


Eyes on the Future

by Springinkerl



Series: Eyes on the Horizon [3]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Action/Adventure, Companions, Dragons, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Romance, Skyrim Main Quest, Werewolves, lycanthropy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-02-05 11:21:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 154,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1816753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Springinkerl/pseuds/Springinkerl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the Companions, the Dragonborn has found a home and her personal luck. But Alduin still threatens not only to destroy everything she has built up, but to end the world and with it time itself. If she wants the future she dreams of, she'll have to take up the fight and risk losing everything she lives for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Witnesses

His name was Harrald, he was the son of Falkreath’s smith, and he was the man of my dreams. At the age of 12 he was already nearly a man, and he was strong, strong enough to blow the bellows at his father’s forge for hours on end. He had fiery red hair that stood in spikes into all directions when it was sweaty and neatly combed when he came for a visit with his mother. He had freckles on forearms and on the bridge of his nose and the most beautiful green eyes that never dared to look at me and my sister without him blushing to a bright pink.

He was cute and manly and perfect, and I wanted to marry him.

My sister agreed with me. Of course I would have killed her if she had dared to utter a single word of critique about my chosen one. But we agreed most of the time anyway, and she found him wonderful too. And cute, manly and perfect.

Now I wanted to kill her for being like me.

We didn’t fight often, my sister and I, and when we did, it was usually because one of us claimed to be better than the other at something we thought we both had to excel at. As a rule, these quarrels were decided by an arbitrament of our parents and only made the inferior party try harder.

But this was different. This was serious and something our parents were never allowed to know. Our futures hang in the balance, after all. When we yelled at each other how he would suit her much better than me and how he could only love one of us and that he was mine – or hers – forever, we were careful to be out of earshot. When we didn’t yell at each other, we didn’t speak at all. And for the first time, we refused to sleep in the same bed.

All this went on for a whole horrible week, and it was the first time that I felt alone. My little stubborn 10-year-old self only didn’t give in because she nursed the firm belief that she’d never be alone as soon as Harrald proposed to her and that she’d never need her nasty selfish sister again.

Until my mother took us both by the ears and gave us an angry roasting.

“He will marry none of you sillies,” she snarled, and I was as dumbstruck as my sister that she knew that we were on bad terms to begin with, and further that she knew what it was about. Dumbstruck and incredibly humiliated. “That boy has three sisters. You really think he’d marry a bickering hag that can’t even get along with her own? You should be ashamed!”

That evening we crawled under the same blanket again, and I felt guilty and relieved and not alone any more. And when we giggled and laughed and apologised to each other, we came up with the perfect solution, wondering why we hadn’t thought about it earlier. He’d just have to marry both of us.

But Jara was dead three months later, and I forgot about Harrald. Marriage stopped being something worth striving for, the silly dream of a silly child.

When I asked Farkas now if he’d marry us both if she were here because once we had decided that this was the way it had to be, he took the question seriously.

“No.” He answered my smirk with a stern gaze. “I would love her as your sister and as my sister-in-law. I would adore her, because she would be a lot like you. But she wouldn’t be you, and I would never love her like I love you.”

Marriage wasn’t something to strive for. It was something that happened when someone else had become an integral, unique, indispensable part of a life.

“Ah, someone’s happy again,” Aela teased when we finally emerged tightly embraced from the living quarters. “I already thought a sabrecat broke into your room tonight, Qhouri.”

“You know I need my porridge to be happy,” I grinned at her. “And thanks for the worry, much appreciated, but I know how to defend myself.”

Farkas just barked out a laughter and brought his mouth to my ear. “You wanna tell them?” he whispered.

I thought for a moment, then shook my head. “Not yet, please.”

“Why not? Why don’t you want them to know?” he asked that evening, when we were finally alone. More than once I had to nudge him into silence over the day, when he made the impression as if was about to burst.

He had set me straight with his outbreak, and no doubts were left. I wanted to marry him because it meant something and felt right. But the thought to make it official, to tell the others and set the inevitable machinery of preparations and arrangements in motion made me cringe inwardly.

“You know what will happen if they do?” I gave him a slightly desperate grin.

“Yeah. All hell will break lose.” A cheeky smile appeared on his face. “Kodlak will instantly start to make the invitation lists. The girls will fight over the colour of their dresses, Tilma will plan the menu and Torvar where he can hide you after the kidnapping.”

“Kidnapping?” I shrieked.

“Yeah. The bride is kidnapped sometime between the wedding and the wedding night. And the groom has to redeem her.” He looked as if he looked very much forward to it.

I groaned with distress. This was even worse than I had anticipated. When he saw my face, his grin faded.

“What’s the matter, Qhouri?”

“I don’t wanna be a spoilsport.” I lowered my head and shrugged. “I mean… I wanna marry you. But does it have to be with so much fuss? To have a party like that, as long as… you know. And the preparations alone would take weeks.” I didn’t want to waste so much time, and considering that our honeymoon would consist in a chase after an artefact that could easily drive me insane, I couldn’t bear the thought of having to feign careless frolic. But what I wanted was probably irrelevant.

He looked at me for a long time. “You want us to run off.”

“No! I know we can’t do that. They’d kill us.” My hands clenched in my lap as I sighed in defeat. “Perhaps… we can convince them to keep it small?”

“I don’t want to keep it small. I want a feast we’ll never forget, bigger than the one we had for your initiation.” I groaned in distress. Of course that was what he wanted, no way he’d exclude his family from his own wedding. And all the people that stood in any kind of relationship with the Companions, from the Jarl to the market vendors, from important clients to friends and associates from all over Skyrim. That I was so uncomfortable with the fuss all these people would make was pretty selfish anyway.

But he gave me a gentle smile and took my hands in his. “But it doesn’t have to be now. Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps this isn’t the right time for something like that.”

“I thought you don’t wanna wait until I’ve used the scroll.”

“I don’t, and I won’t. But when we go to Riften, it’s okay when it’s just you and me.”

I stared at him with wide open eyes. “You’d really run off with me?”

“Of course, if that’s what it takes to make you marry me.”

“I’d marry you even if we had to invite all of Whiterun and Morthal. I hope you know that.”

“Yeah, I know. And that’s what we will do. Later.”

I felt a mountain lift off my mind and my mood. “I love you.”

“That’s good,” he chuckled with a broad grin. “Because when we come back with the rings, everyone else will hate us.”

We both knew that the vows in the Temple of Mara wouldn’t change much between us, if anything at all. But the following days were a bit like the time we spent together on our journey to Northwatch Keep – a time that only belonged to us, full of anticipation. We both enjoyed to have this secret, something just between the two of us, and to keep it to ourselves. We did a couple of odd jobs, I tested my new fighting abilities against him and was smeared into the chinks between the cobblestones, much to his and our siblings’ neverending amusement, and we spent the evenings in the Mare or at the comforting fire at home.

And we went out hunting, the first time ever we ran together and I didn’t have to be guarded and guided. Now I knew what I was doing, and it was amazing. Where Aela was fierce, aggressive and heedless, Farkas’ wolf was more like the man – determined and incredibly efficient, but also always attentive for his partner. And where Aela liked to play with her prey, to wound it and chase it until it had to give in, Farkas hunted solely for the kill, and he was satisfied when he got it.

The simple thrill of the chase and the kill, the scent of fear and blood, the wind in our furs, driven only by the most basic urges – this was part of our bond, only deepened by the experience. When we howled our triumph at the moons and everything but an answering pack of wolves fell silent, frozen with terror, I was one with my mate and the world around us.

“Hm,” he said as we lay in the grass at a small pond where we had washed ourselves after changing back, “it’s better to run in a pack. Much better than alone.”

I enjoyed the deep satisfaction of having fed, the subtle pain of the change still lingering in my bones and my senses still acutely aware of all the sounds and smells around us.”I’ve been with Aela lately.”

“I know.” He turned to me, searching my face. “And I’ve run with Vilkas.”

My breath hitched, but I had nothing to say to that. On the one hand, I was curious what had happened between the twins over the last weeks. On the other hand, I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to get involved with him, and it wasn’t my business.

“I’m glad, Qhouri,” he said lowly. “I’m really glad how it all turned out. I know Kodlak thinks you’ll regret it… but it feels right. This is what we are.”

Yes, it was. Perhaps it was unnatural and the result of dark magic, perhaps it made us less human than others, but it wasn’t evil. Nothing that gave such fulfilment could be evil. We were man and beast, split characters and souls, but we were also able to deal with it. We weren’t evil. Just different, and I refused to feel guilty about it.

“Perhaps Hircine was right. Perhaps we’re strongest as a pack.”

“Yeah, I think he was.”

And that meant that Vilkas belonged to us. Even if wasn’t here, even if I never met him again – he belonged to us, on a level so deep that it was impossible to tear him away.

Unless Kodlak found the cure.

“What will you do… if Kodlak is successful?”

He was quiet for a long time, rolled to his back and stared up at the stars. But his hand searched for mine. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “I don’t dread Hircine’s reign. In the end, this is a decision each of us has to make for himself.”

“We will make it together.”

“Aye.” I nearly missed his words, they were so quiet. “But I meant it, Qhouri. I meant it when I said I belong to you, in this life and in the next.”

When we entered town one evening after an unspectacular bandit wipeout, Farkas pointed at a small cottage next to the Warmaidens smithy.

“It’s for sale,” he said casually.

“Yeah, I know,” I said, “Adrianne told me. I hope for her that someone nice moves in.”

His elbow gently prodded my ribs. “We could, we’re nice enough,” he said with a smirk.

I stopped in the middle of the street, staring at him. “What? Buy it?”

“Aye,” he grinned, “I’ve spoken with Provenicci. You want it?”

By. The. Gods. The man was crazy.

“What, and leave Aela alone with the whelps? You’re crazy, Farkas.”

He grasped my hand and led me to the stairs of the cottage, beckoning me to sit down beside him. “You’ve got to think of yourself once in a while, Qhouri. If you want a home for yourself, you’re gonna get it. It’s not that we’d move to Markarth.”

It wasn’t that I didn’t want a home of my own. Of course I was happy in Jorrvaskr, but the idea to live with him like every other next-doors couple – it had something strangely appealing, because it was something so normal. Under different circumstances. If there weren’t things like ancient Dwemer kingdoms, maddening Elder Scrolls and worldeating dragons to think of.

“And what’s the use of a house that stands empty most of the time? Do you have time to tend for a garden?”

He raised his hands. “Hey, it was just an idea!”

He was so adorably enthusiastic, I hated to disappoint him. He just meant well – whatever he had said, he believed in our future and wanted to build something up, with as much normality as possible. Even if it was just an illusion. But I couldn’t afford to lull myself into such soothing, treacherous dreams, even if it was more than tempting.

“I don’t wanna leave Jorrvaskr, Farkas. It’s my home, and… I can’t settle down yet, not like that. We have already our rooms there, isn’t that enough?”

He nuzzled his nose against mine. “Of course it’s enough. A bunk in the dorm would be enough if I can share it with you. Just forget this silly idea.”

But I didn’t. I admired his confidence and trust, even if it seemed naïve from time to time. Perhaps his ideas weren’t so silly at all – to build something that was worth working and fighting for. Perhaps I wasn’t crazy when I climbed the steps to Dragonsreach myself to speak with the Jarl’s steward.

In the end, we really left for our extended journey to Blackreach and told no one. Or nearly no one. Once again, it was impossible to keep a secret from Athis, and he left me no choice. On our last evening in the Mare, the mer shooed Ria out of her chair beside me and claimed it for himself. And the way he looked, I knew beforehand that it’d be impossible to fool him.

“Spit it out,” he said with a boyish grin, “you’ve got more on your mind than just hitting Falmer and Dwemer toys.”

I hid my tinged cheeks in my tankard. Gods, that mer was as attentive as obtrusive.

And it was pointless to deny. “Not your business,” I grunted into my drink.

“Ah, a confession!” he laughed and ogled over to Farkas. “Shall I ask _him_?”

“Athis… don’t be so nosey. And if we had? So what?”

“Because…” he drawled, “your exceptional mood lately and the way you two are glued together speaks volumes, and I don’t like it at all when you keep secrets from me. Especially not the good ones. It’s good to see you so happy, and I wanna know why.”

“I’ve every reason to be happy after all that hassle with Vilkas!”

But it took more to shake his determination. He just shook his head, his crimson eyes sparkling. “It’s not because of Vilkas. You were calm and relieved when you came back from Rorikstead. Now you’re giddy like a little girl.”

I looked at him over the brim of my drink. I wanted to tell him. It was silly, but I wanted his… approval. I wanted him to tell me that it was right. He was something like my safety line, after all.

Some fresh air would help me to clear my head, and I beckoned him to follow me.

“Promise you’ll tell no one,” I said sternly when we had settled outside on the stairs, the nightly breeze fresh on my heated face. Summer wasn’t over yet, but the harvest had begun, the days became shorter and the nights cooler.

Athis nodded, and I had to suppress a fit of giggles. Partly because of the mead, but mostly because I suddenly realised that what Farkas and I were about to do was really, really ridiculous.

“We’re heading out for Alftand tomorrow, but we’re gonna make a little sidetrip first.” The mer looked expectantly. “To Riften.”

His strong brows furled in confusion. “Riften? What in Oblivion are you searching in that rotten…”

He paused, and I saw him think, and then he started to laugh. “Gods, Qhouri, are you serious? You’re gonna …”

“Shhh,” I hushed him, “Athis, hold your tongue!”

He mercifully lowered his voice. “You know that no one will ever forgive you for this, don’t you?” His angled face crinkled with amusement when I shrugged helplessly.

“Yeah, I know. We’ll make good for it later.”

“But why? Why not make it… official?”

“It’s… a bit difficult. All the arrangements for a proper wedding would just take too long. The others would go crazy, I daren’t even imagine what the girls would get up to. And… I’ve got to get through that blasted Scroll thing first before I can think of celebrating. Let’s see first if I’m still able to do anything at all after that.”

I leant against the wooden railing, Athis squatting in front of me, slowly rocking back and forth. “It was Farkas’ idea, am I right?” I just nodded, and he laid his wrists on my shoulders. “Yeah, thought so. He’s a good man. Are you happy?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m happy, and I wanna marry him. I just wish… everything were a bit easier. A bit more normal. He has a hard time with me. I know it, but I can’t change it, and that hurts.”

Athis smiled. “He adores you, Qhouri, and he has a back broad enough to lean on. And not only literally. Don’t forget to enjoy what you have now, will you?”

We spent a moment in silence, and I simply enjoyed his company. That I had told him of our plans filled me with a strange relief. With the journey ahead, all the dangers and uncertainties waiting for us, it could easily be the last of these moments… and we were both aware of it, although none of us dared to say it out loud.

The door to the inn clapped and broke the mood, followed by a low chuckle from above. “Don’t wanna disturb…,” Farkas said, looking curiously down on us, “but I’m heading home. Better get some sleep if we wanna head out early.”

Athis rose with a laughter and offered a hand to help me up. “Sleep, eh? And I just thought I could get your woman another mead.”

“No way I’m gonna miss out on a free drink!” I pressed a fast kiss on Farkas’ cheek. “Don’t wait for me, love,” I whispered into his ear before I grasped Athis’ wrist and drew him back into the inn, where warmth and stories and companionship were waiting for us. I wanted to drink and sing and celebrate with them, enjoy the time we had together. Enjoy what I had now, like the mer had said.

* * *

Our journey to Riften was cursed, as if the gods wanted to test our perseverance. The difficulties started with a new group of outlaws that had settled in the infamous Valtheim towers, in Ivarstead we were greeted by a dragon sitting on top of the barrow, and another one attacked while we made camp at the shores of Lake Honrich. 

Another assassin tried to kill me, but now I wasn’t dependent on Farkas any more to notice him in time. To drive my sword through his guts filled me with deep satisfaction. Too bad I ruined the armour of the Khajiit, I would have liked to see Farkas in that tight-fitting outfit. But this time we also found an assassination contract in one of his pockets, signed by someone called Astrid. I didn’t know what I liked less, to be called a _poor fool_ or that someone had gone through the hassle to perform a Black Sacrament to get me killed.

And when we thought it couldn’t come worse, a Thalmor patrol got in our way. The Rift was Stormcloak territory, but the Justiciar and his lackeys marched along the main road as if it belonged to them. When we approached them, they were harassing a farmer who either used too much space with his carriage or didn’t show the deference they thought they were entitled to. The poor man knelt beside his cart with a sword at his neck while one of the soldiers was busy freezing the load of cabbages into a solid block that would turn into worthless mush as soon as they thawed.

The mer with the sword was the first who died to my arrow, and the others were no match to Thu’um, Skyforge Steel and beast senses.

After all that, Riften was still the same rotting, reeking fishhole it had always been, and the warm summer days had made the overall stench of decay and rot even worse. Or perhaps I just didn’t notice the smell as intense during my former visits.

None of us wanted to stay here longer than necessary, but if we had imagined we could just stroll into the temple, get married and be off again, we were grievously mistaken.

Of course we needed the rings – that was the easiest part, there were several vendors specialised in wedding bands, and we chose the simplest matching gold rings we could find, only let them engrave on the inside with our names.

It was the priest in the Temple of Mara that really strained my nerves. We entered only to make an appointment for the ceremony, but he held on us for hours with a longwinded, solemn speech about his goddess, the importance of love, what the temple did to spread her gift – and that he’d gladly accept any help in funding his work, of course – and that no couple in Skyrim should live without her blessing.

It wasn’t  _ what  _ he preached , it was the way he did it. So… incredibly pious. Completely detached from everyday’s life and with no real interest in the personal circumstances of the people who had to call upon his service. More than once I was tempted to cut him short and just tell him that we were both already claimed by a Daedric Prince.

But that would’ve been not only inappropriate, it would have felt like a betrayal of our own tradition and our identity. We still were both Nords, raised in the belief of the Nine Divines, and they were important. Mara’s blessing was important, no matter what a mess my – and in a lesser regard Farkas’ as well – spiritual affinities were.

But it was the priest’s casual farewell before he finally let us leave that left us completely stunned.

“See you tomorrow then. Don’t forget the rings, and tell your witnesses to be on time.”

“Witnesses?” we gasped in unison, staring bewildered first at the robed man, then at each other.

He looked confused at our obvious agitation. “Yes, witnesses. You need two of them. You certainly have some friends or family to accompany you on your great day, don’t you?”

Eh… no. We didn’t have witnesses. And we had no idea where to find them at such short notice.

What a stupid rule. As if it wasn’t enough that every single couple in Skyrim had to make its way to Riften, no, they had to drag others along? My anger and lamenting when we were back at the tavern didn’t help us in the slightest, though.

“Perhaps we should just hire someone? Or kidnap? Gods, I sense a business here. Professional witnessing, for lost souls like us who just wanna get over with it,” Farkas mumbled into his mead.

“You just wanna get over with it?” My voice had a shrill edge to it, a sign that I started to get nervous.

But he leant over and covered my hands with his. “Of course not, Qhouri. But I want… a ceremony that means something, something that is about us and not just some hollow rites. Not that ridiculous priest who has no idea who we are, and not such silly…”

There was a movement where it didn’t belong. I leaped out of my chair and over the narrow table, my fingers clenching tightly around a neck before he could finish the sentence. My victim was locked in her crouched position behind Farkas, nimble fingers still stuck in his belt, blue eyes glaring at me in silent rage. A small, slender Nord woman writhed in my grip, with lanky brown hair framing a face that seemed to be twisted into a permanent scowl. A scowl that now changed into a snarl when Farkas stood up and towered above her while she struggled against my grasp.

“What was that?” he asked threateningly with a false, toothy smile.

The way the woman growled at him showed that she was at least no coward. “Nothing! Let me go!”

Slowly I let her stand up, one hand locking her wrists behind her back, the other holding a dagger to her throat. The inspiration struck me when she was trapped between us, her eyes glaring daggers despite the humiliating situation she was in.

She wore an armour I had seen before. A broad grin spread over my face.

Farkas watched me curiously. “You look far too bloodthirsty for this simple thief,” he said with a smirk.

We spoke over her head, and in the meantime the scene had attracted the attention of the whole inn. Not that anyone dared to intervene.

I grinned at him. “She’s no simple thief, dear. And perhaps she’s the answer to our problem.” The confusion that spread equally over the faces of the thief and the Companion was priceless. “Wait for me here, please. I’ll take her home, and if we’re lucky she gets us what we need,” I said to Farkas before I drew the woman out of the inn, his puzzled look following us.

Despite the dagger at her neck she was still reluctant to keep quiet. “Where are we going? You’re just a blasted stranger!”

“Not as strange as you think, thief,” I sneered, increasing the pressure of the blade to her skin. Only when we made our way directly to the graveyard she gasped lowly, giving away her surprise, and her shoulders slumped forwards in defeat when I activated the hidden mechanism in the small mausoleum to open the back door to the Thieves Guild.

“Let’s go home, girl,” I whispered into her ear before I forced her to climb down the ladder without letting her out of my grip.

As soon as we emerged from the entrance, the scraping of stone against stone from the hidden panel was replaced by the noise of unsheathed weapons. A bunch of thieves left whatever they were doing in the large room and formed a half-circle around us. I searched for a vaguely familiar face, but unfortunately there was no one amongst them I had met during my first visit. I wasn’t so foolish to underestimate these people, and I knew it was a risk to come down here as a stranger with one of their sisters in crime under my thumb. They’d intervene with my first careless step, and so I stopped cautiously right behind the doorstep, holding the woman in front of me.

But before I could open my mouth and ask for Brynjolf or Rune, the door at the back of the room opened and the redheaded thief rushed in, axe and dagger brandished. It seemed someone had been faster than me and called him from the Ragged Flagon. As soon as he saw me, a lighthearted grin settled on his face, the tension in his steps released and he lowered his weapon, beckoning his fellows to do the same.

“Lass!” he said with a broad smile, “you can’t just come in and have a drink with us, can you? You need to make an  _ appearance _ !”

“Good to see you too, Brynjolf,” I laughed relieved at the man and his jovial greeting, “but your sister here presented me with an opportunity I just couldn’t pass on.” Finally I lowered the dagger from her throat, but I didn’t let her go. Not yet.

“What did you get yourself into, Sapphire?” Brynjolf eyed the woman curiously. I answered for her.

“She tried to steal from… a friend of mine. You should teach your fellows to leave us Companions alone, it’s not worth the risk. If he had caught her, she’d be dead by now.”

“And how do I know that you’re Companions?” Sapphire’s snarl was dripping with hate and frustration. 

I smirked at her. “That’s  _ your  _ problem , isn’t it?”

But Brynjolf chimed in. “That was really stupid, Sapphire. Even if you don’t know the Dragonborn, you better learn to estimate people. Just look at this armour.” His gaze wandered to my face. “Will you let her go?”

“Wouldn’t have brought her here if I wanted to pass her to the guards, would I?” I chuckled. “No… I need your help, Brynjolf, and I hope we can make a deal. Her freedom against a bit of your precious time. Just one hour, from you and one of your fellows, and I’d prefer Rune if he’s available. Nothing dangerous, nothing illegal. Just one hour.”

Now it was his turn to look surprised. “And I so hoped you just wanted to have a drink with me, lass.” He shook his head in feigned disappointment. “What  _ exactly _ is it  you need us for?”

I finally loosened my grip around the woman’s neck and released her wrists. “Honestly, I’d prefer to discuss that in private. And I’ll take on your offer.”

We found Rune in the makeshift tavern I already knew, the young Imperial greeting me with a pleased, lighthearted smile. After we settled around a table, I took a deep breath.

“Okay, guys. Promise you won’t laugh.” I looked expectantly at the men. Rune just nodded, curious but sympathetic, but Brynjolf already suppressed a snicker. Oh my, he’d have so much fun with me.

“My problem is… I don’t know anyone in Riften but the Jarl, her steward and you. Not that we’re close, but… our last business has gone quite well, hasn’t it?”

Brynjolf just nodded. “Out with it, lass. Don’t put us on the rack.”

“Well… okay.” Suddenly I was nervous, my hands clenching around my mug. “The thing is, I’ve an appointment tomorrow morning. In the Temple of Mara, and I only learned today that I need to bring two witnesses. That’s where you come in.”

My expectant look was answered first by cluelessness, then a slow understanding, then bewilderment and finally by a booming laughter that earned us very curious looks from the people lingering at the bar.

“Okay,” Brynjolf drawled after he had wiped the tears from his face, “let me get this straight. You  _ marry  _ tomorrow ?”

I nodded. This wasn’t funny. And yet, it was. At least for him, I had to concede.

“And you’re alone in Riften?”

“Yes. We didn’t know about the stupid witness rule.”

“Who’s the lucky one?”

“Another Companion.”

“He’s the one Sapphire tried to… unburden?”

“Yes.”

“And where is he now?”

What was this, a cross-examination? But if I couldn’t convince these guys to help us, we’d have to cancel our own wedding. My grin was slightly twisted.

“Waiting in the Bee and Barb. Couldn’t quite bring him here as well, could I?”

“No, you couldn’t, and I appreciate the consideration. But Rune can. Get him here, lad. If she’s gonna marry him, he’s trustworthy enough.”

I groaned. “Is that really necessary?”

But Brynjolf just smirked happily and shooed Rune away. “Oh yes, Dragonborn. Yes, it absolutely is.”

I should have known that Brynjolf would exploit his advantage, with the situation as embarrassing for me as it was amusing for him. The Dragonborn had to beg a bunch of thieves to help her with her own wedding. I didn’t even dare to imagine what Athis would have to say to this. Or Aela. Or  _ Njada _ .

We sat awkwardly with our meads, the silence between us only interrupted by my nervous tapping on the wooden surface of the table and Brynjolf’s occasional snicker.

“Gods, lass,  _ why _ ?” he finally burst out with another roaring laughter.

“Why what?”

“Why are you in this incredibly silly situation? I mean, you know half the world, and you come to  _ me _ ?”

I sighed. “No, Brynjolf, I don’t know half the world. Half the world knows me, that’s a subtle but important difference.” I propped my chin in my palm. Perhaps this whole idea wasn’t as brilliant as I had thought. “You know, we just want to marry. Without effort, without long preparations, without the attention we’d get if we announced it. And so we basically just ran off.”

“Hm,” the thief mused, “pretty sneaky, to keep something like that to yourself. If I didn’t know any better, I’d ask you again if you wanna work for me.”

He really managed to make me laugh. “Oh, I can be very sneaky when it matters. Farkas though… not so much.”

A commotion at the edge of the tavern proved me right. My beloved betrothed emerged from the entrance right behind a Rune who looked so relieved as if he just escaped from prison. And Farkas, fully clad in Dragonbones, warpainted and with the Skyforge sword at his side wore the most frightening scowl he could muster. Brynjolf’s eyes grew wide when he saw him duck through the doorframe.

“Remind me not to anger you, lass,” he whispered, but the cheerful smile didn’t leave his face when he stood up and offered the Companion a greeting hand.

Farkas ignored it though and looked expectantly at me. With a barely visible sparkle in his eyes, where the warpaint crinkled in his laughlines. People who didn’t know him would have probably taken his stare as threatening.

“Don’t tell me you’re serious, honey,” he said in his deepest, most rumbling voice, “what in Oblivion do you expect to find  _ here _ ?”

The hushed chatter at the bar and the other tables had deceased entirely in the meantime, everyone listening to our exchange. I could feel the tension in the air.

“The solution to our problem, love,” I answered with my sweetest smile. “You know, these guys aren’t as good in solving other people’s problems as we are, but they’re better than nothing.” Brynjolf’s annoyed grunt was my little revenge. “Let me introduce you, dear.”

I turned to the thief. “Brynjolf, this is Farkas, Companion from Whiterun and member of their inner Circle.” I took his hand. “And this is Brynjolf, second in command of Skyrim’s Thieves Guild. And I think you already met Rune, also known as Thalmor-slayer?” I smiled at the young man who gave me a relieved grin.

“Yeah, so to say. He nearly killed me! Perhaps I should have changed out of this armour?”

“Once bitten, twice shy, boy,” Farkas rumbled, nodded curtly to Brynjolf and drew me into a corner. “Are you  _ crazy _ ? What in Oblivion are you doing down here? This rathole is even worse than everything you told me!”

“I’ve asked Bryn and Rune to be our witnesses tomorrow, and he insisted on sending Rune to fetch you. You have a better idea? What did you think I’m doing here, have a stag party?”

His agitated stare slowly turned into something else, but instead of the furious roar even I expected in the meantime, he started to grin. Broadly. “Qhouri, thieves? Seriously? For our wedding? And what about my fabulous kidnapping idea?”

I shrugged, glad how relaxed he took in the situation. So far, at least. “These guys are okay, Farkas. Yes, they’re sleeky little bitches, but… they’re okay. And fun.”

His fingers drove through his hair. “Gods, and I just wanted a quiet little ceremony, only for the two of us.” He sighed deeply, but I saw that he didn’t mean it. “You’re aware that you and I and all of the Companions will never hear the end of it if this little arrangement ever gets out of these sewers?”

I chuckled. “If I cared what others think we’d be in Whiterun now and busy signing invitations for at least half the hold’s population. Let’s just get this over with, okay?”

His eyebrows rose high, but then he lowered his arm around my shoulder and led me back to our table where he sat down without further ado. “Okay,” he turned to Brynjolf, “what do you say,  _ thief _ ? As much as it hurts to admit, it seems I need your help if I wanna make the Dragonborn a respectable woman. Do you accept the honour to attend our wedding?”

He didn’t look  _ hurt _ . Not at all, quite the contrary. He was wary, and he certainly didn’t trust our hosts entirely, but he was still able to appreciate the situation as what it was – something hilariously screwballed.

Brynjolf smirked openly at Farkas. “You know,  _Companion_ , honour isn’t exactly our core competence. Not like it’s yours. But now that you’re here, I feel a certain… responsibility for the lass. I’ll be at your disposal if you convince me that you’re the right man for her.”

“Brynjolf, please!” My consternation only coaxed another laughter from the redhead, but Farkas just relaxed in his chair and sipped at his mead, his gaze strictly on his vis-à-vis, and I had the distinct feeling that something was going on between the two men. Some kind of communication that went beyond words. Something… male. Creepy.

“If her word isn’t enough… see, it has taken me months to convince  _ her _ . No idea how to convince  _you_ now in a matter of hours.”

“Well, that’s a start. At least you’re persistent. You’re gonna need it.”

“Brynjolf?” My voice was dangerously calm.

“Aye, lass?”

“How often have we met so far?”

He thought for a moment. “Once, as far as I remember.”

“Exactly,” I scowled, “and what gives you the idea  _ you  _ know what  _ he’s _ gonna need ?”

He raised both hands. “I think I know you good enough, lass. Or you wouldn’t be here now.”

“No, you don’t,” I huffed, “so stop pretending, okay? Don’t forget, this is supposed to be a  _ deal _ .” My gaze wandered over to Sapphire who stood at the bar, glaring at us.

The smirk the redhead shot me was taunting, but Farkas wasn’t as easy to unnerve as I. In fact, he seemed… far too consent with this conversation and where it was leading. “But he’s right,” he said calmly, “no one knows better than me how stubborn you are.” He turned to Brynjolf. “You wanna know what happened when I proposed to her?”

That was going too far. Far too far. I rammed my elbow into his ribs, and he jerked away with a surprised yelp. Not that it hurt him through the cuirass, though. “Be careful what you spout off, or you  can marry  _ him  _ tomorrow ,” I said between gritted teeth. And pointing a finger at Brynjolf, I added, “and you stop acting like my father! By Ysmir, this is ridiculous!”

Both men looked decidedly innocent. “But we’re just getting a little acquainted, lass.” Brynjolf’s pout couldn’t hide his amusement.

“Exactly. I just wanna know who’s by my side on the most important day of my life.” Puppy-eyes! He dared to show me his puppy-eyes now!

“May I remind you that he hasn’t even accepted that  _ honour _ yet ?” I glared at them, the thief and the Companion, two men who  _ should _ be like  cat and dog. If anything, this encounter  _ should  _ have taken place with drawn weapons between them, not with tankards which were empty in the meantime. I expected hostility and suspiciousness, not this… creepy camaraderie. What in Oblivion was going on here?

Brynjolf finally crossed the line when he reached over and patted my cheek with a slack, leathergloved hand. “I just need a little more persuasion. How about you let us talk and get us some fresh drinks?”

He caught the slap aimed at his face midstrike, as if he had expected it, and burst into a mischievous laughter. His iron grip pulled me half over the table, my face red and hot with fury and embarrassment.

“Is she always so fiery?”

Farkas watched the scene seemingly entirely unimpressed. “No. Sometimes she sleeps.”

This was enough. I broke away with a jerk, took a deep breath and forced my expression with conscious effort into a twisted smile. “Okay, guys, I’m able to admit when I made a mistake. From my side, this  _ deal _ just died .” I turned to Farkas. “And you either come with me and help me kidnap someone, or you can find someone else for tomorrow. Sapphire seemed quite… attached to you earlier.”

The sudden discomfort on Brynjolf’s features was just a short triumph, though. A heavy arm slung around my waist before I even turned away completely, and Farkas pulled me against my struggling resistance into his lap, locking my wrists in a gentle grip.

“Relax, girl,” he mumbled into my ear. “That guy likes you, and I think he starts to like me too. You really think I’m gonna make him jealous with things that’s not his business?”

“And that’s reason enough to humiliate me like that?” I hissed, pushing against his breastplate. With meagre success.

“You don’t need me to defend yourself,” he chuckled, “and you’re too cute when you’re so mad.” I could feel his smirk against the skin of my neck before he lifted me like a puppet off his knees and back onto the chair beside him. “I’m gonna get the drinks, okay?”

“I’m  _ not _ cute !” I yelled after him, still furious and unconcerned of the people around us. He just shot me a boyish grin over his shoulder, and suddenly I couldn’t be angry any more. If anyone was cute, it was him.

Farkas looked entirely out of place, but by no means awkward between all the thieves when he made his way through the tavern and addressed the barkeeper. It was fascinating, his ability to make himself comfortable wherever he came. He simply knew when he could afford to let his guard down, even if it was in a den of thieves. And what surprised me even more was his laidback way to deal with these people, to get intuitively at their good side. At the moment, he was definitely more relaxed than I.

“Lass?” Brynjolf’s voice got me out of my thoughts. “Did he really call you cute? And you let him live?”

“Oh, he knows my revenge will be horrible,” I giggled, and the thief joined in my laughter.

“I like him, you know. Not quite what I expected from a Companion.” His low chuckle was bare of any mischief now.

I laughed. “Jorrvaskr is a _ mead hall _ , Bryn. What do you think we’re doing all day long, save maidens from bandits, polish our swords and wait for Ysgramor to give his orders from Sovngarde?”

He tilted his head. “Well… yes. Something like that, I suppose.”

“Yeah, that’s the crux with legends. We may be thousands of years old, and we may not take some jobs other mercenaries would do without thinking, but we’re not  _ dead _ .”

“No, you’re certainly not, and neither is he.” He pointed at Farkas. “And the way you look at him… I think we’ll have a fine wedding tomorrow.” His smile was broad and genuine.

“Thank you, Bryn,” I said relieved, “just promise you won’t tell anyone.”

He grinned. “Even if I wanted, who would believe a thief?” He raised his hand. “I promise, your little secret won’t leave this room.”


	2. Wed

Blasted thieves and their blasted mead - or however they called the concoction they had served us.

I bolted awake with the first light streaming through the window of our room, a throbbing pain in my head and a disgusting, sour taste in my mouth. I felt sore all over, muscles taut and aching. Only the thought of breakfast let me choke.

Gods, and this was supposed to be my wedding day?

And Farkas slept peacefully, his light snore completely undisturbed.

I shook him, gently at first, but when he pushed my hand away and turned to the other side just to resume his deep breathing, I poked him with more determination. Finally he jerked away, grunted annoyed and caught my hand, rolling to his back. A single eye slipped open.

"What's the matter, Qhouri?"

"We got to get up!"

His view turned lazily to the window, then he shook his head. "The sun's barely up. We've got tons of time."

"But…"

"No but," he grunted and drew the blanket back up to his chin.

I sat at the edge of the bed and stared at him. I'd stare at him until he deigned to notice me. The nerve this man had!

Finally and without opening an eye he lifted the covers, pulled me on top of him and drew them up again. "Sleep. Too late to get nervous now." A small smile quirked the corners of his mouth as his arms closed around me.

He had no idea.

It was a shallow doze at best I forced myself into, with people, names and faces racing in unsorted pictures through my mind. I wished anyone was here – Athis, or Aela, anyone of my siblings, anyone I'd call friend. So many people who should share this day with us.

But it were just the two of us. It had to be enough. It would always be enough.

"Why are you so fidgety?" His sleepy voice startled me.

"Aren't you nervous? At least a bit?"

His eyes opened hesitantly. "No. Must be a bride thing." He chuckled lowly, and his good mood was infectious. "Relax, girl. You're just getting married." Warm hands stroked in long, soothing motions along my back.

"Tell me something. Anything." I just wanted to lie there, on top of him, engulfed by his warmth and with the vibrations of his voice under my ear. But he remained quiet, and I already thought he fell asleep again if it weren't for those wandering fingertips.

"Farkas?"

"You remember when we were in Morthal for the first time?"

"Sure. It was horrible."

He chuckled. "Aye, it was. But when I introduced you to Jonna… you could barely move with your cricked shoulder… I'll never forget how you yelled at her. How you told her that you absolutely don't care whom I marry and what I do with my life and that you only need me for the dragons, and that she should get lost with her stupid jealousy, and that we're just friends. You were glorious, and I just wanted to crawl under a rock and die."

I propped my chin on the back of my hand. "No, I was angry. You were such morons, both of you. And we were just friends. We only knew each other for a few weeks then."

"Long enough. Lots of moments to make you precious to me. That was when I knew that I wanted you to care."

"You're still my best friend. How many women are so lucky to marry their best friend?"

"See, and that's why there's no reason to be nervous."

He could talk. But his calmness soothed and reassured me as well. There was no reason to be nervous. Everything would go well, and tonight we'd be husband and wife and nothing would have really changed.

I couldn't suppress a small chuckle. "Perhaps I'm just afraid that Brynjolf pilfers the temple's giftbox."

"He won't dare it," Farkas growled. "I'd kill him."

"You made quite the impression on him, you know?"

"Hopefully enough to make him behave." His hands stopped their motions over my back, and he bit his lip. "Qhouri... I have something for you. A gift. But I'm not sure if you want it."

I lifted my head. "A gift? What is it?"

He rolled to the side and released me from his embrace, an insecure smile on his face. "I don't know. It's from Vilkas."

All of a sudden, the air in the room was too hot and stale to breathe. All my nervousness and excitement, all the anticipation for this day was spoiled and darkened by these words.

A wedding gift from Vilkas. Something I needed like a hole in the head. I turned to my back and stared at the ceiling.

"You don't want it," Farkas said lowly.

My head spun around. "Of course I don't! You expect me to be grateful?" I narrowed my eyes. "How does he even know that we marry?"

"He doesn't. I just told him that I'd ask you. Mainly to annoy him," he said with a sheepish expression. "But when I left Skyhaven, he gave it to me. And he said he wishes us luck."

"Us? Or you?"

"Us."

"Yeah, and next you'll tell me that he's happy for us." I snorted in annoyance. What an utter bullshit. All he wanted was to retain his grip on his brother, even if it meant that he had to deal with me. Only that I didn't want to deal with him.

Why did this man have to worm his way back into my life over and over again, even now, on this day that should have been ours alone? It was a stupid question, and I had always known the answer. Because tonight, he would be my brother-in-law.

"I shouldn't have taken it." Sadness stood in his eyes.

I let out a long breath and rubbed my palm over my face. I felt angry and pressed, but I was also unable to stand this expression on his face. "I get it, Farkas. He wants to share in your life. But he doesn't have to get through me to get to you. I just want him to leave me alone."

He nodded slowly. "I'm sorry, Qhouri. I'm sure he meant no harm... but I shouldn't have brought it up. At least not now." He touched my cheek with a tentative gesture. "Forget it, okay? Today should be about us. Nothing else."

I gave him a feeble smile. "And it is, because no one else is here."

He kissed me softly. "You are here. That's enough."

"I'm still nervous, you know?"

"Better nervous than angry."

"I'm not angry." I tugged at his hand. "Come here. Tell me about Morthal."

"When we left there... you were angry too. And I felt like an oaf."

"Yeah. And then you told me that I'm not your type. It was... perfect."

"Well, you aren't. Didn't help with falling in love with you, though."

"But you are my type."

"I am? Didn't think you had something like a type."

"I didn't, till I met you."

"You were _afraid_ of me when we first met."

"I like scary men."

"Just because you're scary yourself."

A loud knock on the door disturbed us, and Farkas got up to open it. "Your bath, Sir!" A heavily breathing and sweating man dragged a bathtub into the room, two little boys following him with buckets full of steaming hot water. They looked curiously at me as I lay hidden under the blankets and the half-naked man waiting for them to finish their preparations. The man shooed them out of the door with an embarrassed smile.

Farkas turned to me as soon as the door had closed, clapping into his hands, a broad grin on his face. "Up with you, woman, stop dawdling! Gods, you have an idea how late it is already?"

_Bastard._

* * *

That priest was insufferable. At first his face crunched into a derisive scowl because we dared to come to his temple in our armours. But I didn't want to wear a dress, and we had had no opportunity to buy something special anyway. But our dragon armours were by far the most exclusive garment we possessed, we were comfortable in them, and they matched each other - so we decided to wear them. Then his lips curled into an indignant sneer when he saw whom we brought as our witnesses. At least the thieves were on time, they were sober, had bathed and came in simple civilian outfits.

And now he insisted that someone had to lead me from the door to the altar and deliver me to the groom, preferably my father. Because that was the custom, and there were certain procedures that had to be observed.

Stupid rules, stupid customs and stupid procedures. Brynjolf volunteered with a smug grin to fulfil the deed, but I outright refused. No way. This was ridiculous.

"Can't we just... dunno, walk to the altar together? Or start the whole thing here? I mean, is it really so important?"

The priest's lips were pressed into a firm line. He shook his head. "No. You have to be separated before I can unite you in Mara's grace." I had a hard time not to yell at him. I just wanted to get married, why did he have to make it as difficult as possible?

"Don't be so cranky, Qhouri," came a voice from the entrance. "Just let me do it and let's get over with this."

I turned, slow, incredulous and simultaneously with Farkas. "Athis?" we asked in unison.

The mer wore neat black leather pants, an immaculate white shirt and the broadest smile he could muster. "A little bird told me that something was gonna happen here today that I shouldn't miss."

I sprinted down the aisle with a squeal and caught him in a tight hug. Gods, I was so happy to see him. "Don't be mad, but I just had to come. But I told no one else," he whispered.

"Do I look as if I'm mad?" I whispered back.

"Let me guess," Farkas' amused voice came from behind me, "that bird wasn't so little at all, and it had scales instead of feathers."

Athis shot him a grin over my shoulder. "Perhaps you're right. Or not." The smile he gave me was warm. "No. You look happy. I'm glad I came in time."

"Will you do it? Just to shut him up?" The priest watched us with a miffed expression.

"Of course. Who are these guys?" He gave Farkas an amicable pat and nodded a greeting towards the thieves.

"Brynjolf and Rune. We needed two witnesses, and they volunteered." I turned to them. "This is Athis, a shield-brothers of ours."

" _That_ Brynjolf and Rune?" Athis asked astonished.

"Yeah."

Brynjolf arched an eyebrow at the mer. "What do you mean?"

Athis grinned mischievously. "Her adventure in the Ratway is a tale well known in Jorrvaskr. You two left quite the impression."

Farkas chuckled lowly, but Brynjolf looked as if he wasn't sure if it was meant as a compliment or more as an insult. Rune gave him his typical light-hearted smile. "That impression was mutual." Somehow I had the feeling that Athis would fit even better into the Ragged Flagon than Farkas.

The impatient harrumph of the priest interrupted us. "Can we start now?"

I gave him a beaming smile. "Yeah, we can."

The ceremony was gratefully short and went by in a haze of nervousness, nausea and bliss.

The thieves took place in the foremost bench, and I followed Athis out of the temple. Outside, he slung his arms around my waist. "Nervous?"

I gave him a feeble grin. "Yeah. I'm so glad you're here, Athis."

"Wouldn't have missed it for the world." He pecked me on the cheek. "I'm happy for you, Qhouri. And I know you two are happy together."

He offered me his arm and opened the door, and as soon as we had entered, all nervousness was forgotten. Athis' presence beside me was soothing, but my gaze was caught by the face of the man in front of the altar, by the unveiled love and happiness in his smile that was only for me. Farkas took my hand when we had reached him and squeezed my fingers reassuringly, and his palm was warm and dry.

The priest repeated some of the solemn sentences we had already heard the day before, but I didn't listen anyway. My eyes were fixed on the statue of the goddess behind the altar, that beautiful woman with the loving gaze who held her arms open for and over everybody bidding for her blessing.

I bid for her blessing and her protection, from the bottom of my heart.

"... in this life and the next, in prosperity and poverty, and in joy and hardship …"

"I do. Now and forever." Farkas' deep voice was thick with emotion, full of the confidence and certainty that had carried us so far.

"Do you agree to be bound together, in love, now and forever?"

"I do. Now and forever." I heard my own words like those of a stranger, firm and determined.

I never agreed more to anything in my life. Especially when two huge hands closed around my waist while the priest still spoke on, lifting me off my feet, and a mouth came over mine so forceful and tender as if it wanted to melt into my lips. "Gods, how I love you," I whispered into his kiss, and he laughed and veered me around, and then he let me down and I kissed him again until that obnoxious priest interrupted us.

"The rings. Please. Just take the rings."

We took them and slipped them on our fingers with even more laughter and a lot of fumbling because we both couldn't take our eyes off the sheer happiness in the other's face, and all five of us signed the document for the temple's archive so no one could claim this didn't happen.

Friend, lover, mate and husband. Now and forever.

Originally we had planned to invite Brynjolf and Rune to a meal and a few drinks at the Bee and Barb, but the thieves had different plans - when we left the temple, they led us without further ado to the graveyard. We tried to object, but when they invited Athis explicitly to join in – as if I had ever left him out of anything on this day – and the mer had that curious gleam in his eyes that he usually only got when he was about to explore a new ruin or cave, I knew it was inevitable to let the thieves have their way with us. Brynjolf said something about the Thieves Guild hosting the wedding of the Dragonborn was exactly the push their Lady Luck needed to come back to them, and that they'd not let us go without having a few drinks with them. And that the preparations were already done anyway.

Of course it wasn't done with a few drinks.

"Okay, guys 'n' gals," Brynjolf's voice rose over the chatter in the Ragged Flagon where he had gathered his fellows, "gimme a moment, please." He pointed with a wide gesture at us and grinned at my uncomfortable expression. "Some of you know the Dragonborn already. The lass once freed us from the Thalmor pest,"

"Only with Rune's help!" I interfered, but he beckoned me not to interrupt him.

"and now she came back because she needed assistance in a more… delicate matter. Some of you also have already met that impressive lad beside her, yesterday he was so kind not to kill our Sapphire when she… tried to relieve him of some of his burdens. Since about twenty minutes these two are a married couple, and the participation of the Thieves Guild, represented by Rune and yours truly, was crucial to get this wedding done."

Loud clapping and shouting was the answer to this announcement, and Brynjolf ignored deliberately the daggers I glared at him. He had promised!

The thief asked for silence once more.

"We have the fine tradition to celebrate a job well done, but had far too few opportunities recently to follow this tradition. And as this was a job very well done, it's just right and proper we celebrate this occasion before we let her go to save the world again. What d'ya say?"

A roaring cheer was his answer.

I discovered soon that the Thieves Guild had some remarkable similarities with the Companions. They lived together, worked together and behaved generally like I knew it from my siblings. Like a family. And they never missed a chance to tap a barrel and party together. Any reason was good enough, even if it was the wedding of some strangers.

But before they started to gather around us for the obligatory congratulations, I had to take Brynjolf to task.

"You promised not to tell anybody!"

The thief grinned very complacently. "First, lass, _anybody_ never includes your own family. I'm sure you know how that works. And second, if I remember correctly, I just promised your little secret wouldn't leave this room. And it hasn't."

I was speechless. What a rascal! But it was impossible to be angry at this honest, charming smile when he embraced me in a bearlike hug. "This isn't part of the deal any more," he said warmly, "just have a good time, okay?"

The thieves were an odd bunch of people, many strange names that could only be made up, most of them congratulating us honestly but obviously more interested in getting their share of the free mead and the venison roast they had prepared. Even Sapphire forced half a smile on her face when I offered her a hand.

But we had a lot of fun, although it was weird to be with so many strangers on this day. We didn't need words to know that we both felt the same. That we both would have preferred to be in Jorrvaskr now and that we wanted to be alone as soon as possible.

I had been right about Athis, though. He blended into the crowd as if he belonged there. Brynjolf gave me a crooked grin as we watched him in the middle of a group of thieves, recounting our fight through Forelhost.

"As I can't have you, perhaps I'll try to poach him," the redhead said.

"He would make an awesome thief. Much better than me," I chuckled. "But you can't have him. He is ours."

"Why not? Look at them. Even Sapphire is falling for him."

It was true, the young woman hang fascinated on his every word.

"No one knows how to deal with feisty Nord women like our Athis," Farkas snickered good-naturedly, and I had to laugh out loud. No, I didn't want Sapphire and Njada to meet. That would really end in disaster.

I was just busy explaining to Rune and an elder Breton named Delvin that we really planned to spend our honeymoon in a cosy little Dwemer ruin near Winterhold when Farkas approached us.

"'Cuse me, but I need my wife for a moment," he said with an irresistible smile before he drew me into a niche and claimed my mouth with so much ferocity I felt my knees go weak. "I wanna go. Now."

A fabulous idea. "Let's just sneak off. They'll appreciate it."

Of course it didn't work, but the laughter we got when we were caught and exclaimed innocently that we just needed some fresh air was friendly. Athis slung his arms around our shoulders. "Good luck in Blackreach. Be careful, okay?"

Farkas nodded, and I pulled the mer close. "Thanks for coming, Athis. With you... it was perfect."

"A pleasure, sister. Stay safe."

It was still early in the evening, and despite the damp, foul atmosphere in the city, the sunset over Lake Honrich was beautiful. The mist in the air was glowing, the low sunrays reflecting on the low hanging clouds and on the quiet surface of the water. We made our way out of the city to the docks where we settled with our backs against the warm wooden wall of a boathouse.

He was surprised when I handed him a package.

"What's that?"

"A gift for us both," I said with a light smile. "Open it."

The small casket was wrapped in cloth, and Farkas took out its contents with confusion in his eyes. "A key?"

I leant relaxed against him. "For Breezehome. The cottage next to Warmaidens. I bought it."

He was quiet, just looked down on me with bright, astonished eyes, but a heavy arm came around my shoulder and pulled me against his chest.

"But you didn't want it."

My fingers tangled with his. "No, but you did. And… perhaps the idea isn't as silly as I thought."

The sun had nearly vanished beneath the horizon when he spoke again, the sky over us already a velvety purple. "So… you think we're gonna live there some day? And tend to the garden?"

" _You_ will tend to the garden, love," I said teasingly, "while I train the whelps in Jorrvaskr or go drinking with Athis and Torvar. And in the evening, you will cook for me."

"How about I teach you to cook?" he said with a quirked grin, but then he fell silent again. "I'd like to go home now." There was a longing in his voice that made clear that he didn't mean our room at the inn.

"Nobody spends his honeymoon at home," I said with chuckle, "and it's neither fully paid off nor completely furnished yet. Oh, and your wife is broke now."

His smiling face bent down to me. "Are you saying you're a bad catch?"

"Yeah, sort of. Sorry for not telling you earlier."

He rose with a laughter and offered me a hand, just to swoop me up into his arms when I stood, one arm under my knees, the other around my shoulders. "Doesn't matter. You've married the happiest, richest man in all of Tamriel, wife. And he has all his luck and his wealth right here."

And with that he carried me through the gate, past the ogling guards, over the market place and through the inn, curious glances and a few whistles following us. I hid my giggle in the crook of his neck. He stopped in front of the door to our room and pushed it open.

"This is how it's done correctly, isn't it?" he asked with a strange little smile, and his lips closed over mine when he entered and kicked the door shut behind him, my arms clinging around his neck.

He leant with his back against the wall when he let met down, his arms around my waist. "You're really my wife now," he said with a quiet, incredulous laughter. "I can't believe it yet."

"And you're my husband." I threaded my fingers through his hair. "Thank you."

"What for? That I married you? If I remember correctly, I had to talk you into this."

"For your love and your patience. For everything you taught me. And for this wonderful day."

"I'm thankful for every day we have together, Qhouri. And today... it wasn't quite like I imagined, but it was perfect."

"I'm glad you're not mad. That I told Athis."

He gave me a gentle smile. "I know what he means to you."

Yeah. I loved all of my siblings, every single one of them in a unique way. But Athis had been the first. The first to take me in, the first to believe in me, the first who gave me the feeling that I belonged to them. He had a very special place in my heart.

Perhaps he was for me what Vilkas was for my husband. Only that Athis had shared this day with us, and Vilkas hadn't.

"There's something still waiting for you," I said calmly, stroking his neck. "Another gift."

Astonishment flared over his face. "You mean...?"

"Yeah. You should open it."

He watched me from wide eyes, but then he went to his pack, reached inside and fished out a small, simple leather pouch.

He let it rest on his palm. "It's for us both, Qhouri."

"You wanna know what it is?"

He nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on my face.

"Then open it."

He sat down at the small table, his back to me, and fumbled with the knot. When he turned it over, something fell with a dull clank on the tabletop, and he let out a surprised hiss.

I stepped behind him and looked over his shoulder. My eyes grew wide.

It was an amulet, a disk half the size of my palm, made from dragonbone that was polished to shimmering alabaster. A dragon was carved into the front, the lines blackened with ash – the beast was depicted in a half-profile as if it was flying towards us, neck stretched and maw wide open, fangs, tongue and scales clearly discernible, caught masterfully in the moment before it released a Shout. The wings were spread wide and protruded from the smooth curve of the amulet's edge.

And only when Farkas turned it around, I saw that it was divided in halves, a smooth, wavy cut that was barely visible when the parts were held together.

The backside was adorned with another relief – two wolves, both shown in profile, with bristled manes, heads thrown back and jaws wide open, so life-like that I thought I could hear their howls. What formed the wings of the dragon on one side were the wolves' heads on the other.

Farkas caressed the edge with the pad of his index and looked up to me.

It was beautiful. A true work of art. That something like this, something so precious and fitting for us came from Vilkas’ mind and from his hands… that he made such an effort, that he even bothered… I swallowed heavily.

"It's amazing," I whispered full of awe.

"He must have made it during his watch turns."

"When he was supposed to watch over you?"

"Yeah." A small smile quirked his lips. "He means no harm, Qhouri. I think... he just wanted to do something nice."

I didn't believe that it was so easy. Vilkas wouldn't just do something nice, not without second thoughts and especially not for me. But this wasn't the moment to ponder his motives.

I took one of the halves in my hand and threaded the thin, braided leather band Vilkas had enclosed through the little hole at the top. The material was warm to the touch. But when I wanted to fasten it around Farkas' neck, he took my wrist and stopped me.

He took the amulet from my hand, put it away and pulled me into his lap. "This day was perfect, love. With Athis and the thieves... and all these gifts." He palmed my cheek, so much love in his eyes that it made me choke. "But it's not what matters. What matters is that you're my wife. Just you and me."

I took his hand and laid my palm against his. The rings shimmered in the candle-light. He was right. For the moment, nothing mattered – not Vilkas, not Alduin, not Blackreach and the Scroll, not the thieves down in their sewers or the tantrum the Companions would throw when they got to know about our wedding.

When I claimed his mouth, I could taste his love and his longing, and I could feel him pull his barriers away, how he let me in and reached out for me.

He pressed his lips to mine and I felt his hands in my hair, tug and remove the leather strips that held my braids, his fingers raking carefully through them until he had them untangled. Only when his hands came down and started to open the straps of my pauldrons, he broke the kiss and leant his forehead against mine. "You're no warrior tonight," he whispered. "No Dragonborn, no beast, no Companion. Just my wife. My beautiful, wonderful wife."

"And this night won't be spoiled," I said with a small smile, busying myself eagerly with the buckles of his armour.

"No." His eyes darkened. "Tonight you're mine. And I am yours."

* * *

The following week was perhaps the happiest of my life.

We were on our way to Alftand, but we took our time on our way north, enjoying our improvised honeymoon travelling criss-cross through the Rift. The weather was stable, and although the nights were already noticeably colder than at summer's peak, we savoured to be out again, unbound and free, caring for nothing and nobody but ourselves. We spent a few days in a secluded place at the hot springs, and nothing disturbed us – no dragon, no bandits, nothing. And when the weather changed and it became rainy and uncomfortable outside, we relocated into the peaceful shelter of the Eldergleam Sanctuary, into the endless spring under the magnificent tree.

And Farkas made good on his promise to take me to an Orsimer stronghold. Narzulbur wasn't far from Windhelm, but it lay so secluded up in the mountains that formed the natural border to Morrowind that nobody would ever travel there accidentally. Farkas knew the chieftain, he had received the honour of being called blood-kin by him, and he was certain they'd let us stay even if I was a stranger to them.

He was wrong. Narzulbur was a small stronghold, only about a dozen people living in the longhouse and working in the affiliated mine where they digged for the special metal their famous, vicious looking armours and weapons were made of. But Chief Mauhulakh was a proud warrior, although he was stricken by fate, having lost four wives to death. He mourned his wives, he mourned his solitude, and he waited for the day his son would challenge him and take his place as head of the tribe.

But until then, he'd hold on to the old ways of the Orsimer, and that meant that no stranger was granted access to the stronghold, even if it was the wife of a friend. He was friendly to us, even openly pleased to see Farkas, he provided us with supplies and joined us in the evening for friendly banter and exchange of news, but he didn't let us enter.

Not that I really minded. The prospect to sleep in one big room with a dozen strangers wasn't exactly thrilling.

But Mauhulakh eyed me curiously over the small fire we had built in the shelter of the palisades.

"You chose well if she earned those dragonscales herself, friend," the Orsimer said casually to Farkas. I had to grin over the bluntness of his quick judgement, but Farkas just lifted an eyebrow.

"She's a warrior and a Companion like me. We're equal."

I wasn't sure if he was aware that by stressing my assets he mostly raised his own reputation, given that in this society only the chieftain was allowed to have wives and daughters were given away like a prize to whoever their father chose for them.

But Mauhulakh just chuckled amused. "Oh, you and your human way of courting," and Farkas gave him a grin that eased the light tension. The men obviously understood each other.

The Orsimer turned to me. At least it didn't seem unbeseeming to speak freely with him.

"Would you like to do me a favour, Companion?" he asked with a strange smile.

What a weird question. Of course I could do him a favour, if he needed my help. But he'd have to ask me, not the other way around.

Only Farkas' broad grin brought me onto the right track. This was his way to invite us into his home!

I couldn't suppress a smirk. "Is there anything I can do for you, Chieftain?"

Now he smiled openly. "Actually, there is. Gloombound mine is prosperous, but we're looking to expand. My son Dushnamub, our blacksmith, recently went out to explore a nearby cave as a possible prospecting site. But during his exploration he met some opposition and lost his lucky gauntlet, a gauntlet he claims that it heightens his skills. He's been mostly useless since this incident, the armours he makes not even worth to be sold to the Stormcloaks in Windhelm. Would you be so kind to retrieve this gauntlet for us?"

Get a gauntlet out of a cave? That couldn't be so hard.

"It's an honour that you entrust me with this task, Chieftain," I said, Farkas nodding approvingly. "I'll see to it tomorrow."

The cave was less than an hour's march away from the stronghold, it was tiny and inhabited just by an old, crinkled, lonely mage and his pet atronach. How the unlucky blacksmith was able not to kill him escaped me, because the wizard attacked me on sight. I adjusted this lapse for him. The gauntlet in question - it had to be right one, why would anybody else lose a single gauntlet? - was made of sabrecat leather and studded with plates of orichalcum, the greenish metal that somewhat resembled the scales of my own gear. I found it in a chest that wasn't even locked.

I didn't know what to make of the simplicity of this task. If the chieftain thought I was just a girl he had to do a favour, this was an affront not only for me, but also for Farkas, the outsider he called brother. But perhaps this whole blood-kin thing was essentially not much more than a formality - his pride didn't allow to let us enter his Stronghold the day before, but perhaps he just didn't want to make it harder than necessary.

But he shouldn't have sent me away at all. It wasn't even midday when I came back, and the columns of thick, black smoke rising from the wooden palisade and watchtowers were visible from far away. I fell into a frenzied sprint when I saw the dragon swoop down the slope of the mountains above the longhouse, his fiery blast hitting the buildings with frightening accuracy.

The fence and the huge tent that sheltered the forge was already burning at several places, as well as the frail rope bridge that led over the chasm between the longhouse and the mine, the smouldering remains separating the few warriors and the miners. The latter were running around frantically in front of the dark opening into the mountain, unarmoured and armed only with their pickaxes but fiercely determined to bring down the dragon with the little means they had.

It was horrible to watch the devastation the beast caused from afar, how it circled tightly above the stronghold, how it carried away a man in his claws, to see a person fall from a collapsing watchtower with wildly flailing arms, to hear the screams and smell the stench of burning wood, leather and flesh.

When I arrived on the scene, the dragon sat on the rocky ledge in front of the mine, his long neck swinging back and forth, unreachable over the abyss the destroyed bridge had spanned. Bodies lay in front of him and between the smouldering remains of the forge, and I just hoped the surviving miners had sought shelter in the cave. A few warriors, Farkas amongst them, stood on the edge and tried to harm him with their arrows, constantly on the watch for his deadly blast.

They would not be able to kill him like this, and the longhouse was probably lost if the dragon took off again.

I rushed through the gate, not caring any more for permissions, dropped everything I carried but Dragonbane and my shield and made my way to the fighters, handing my quiver to Farkas.

"Keep firing, try to distract him. I've got to get close without getting roasted."

No time for explanations, Farkas just nodded and made room. I made a few steps back and took a run-up towards the edge, saw speechless faces fly by, still wondering if the power of my Thu'um would suffice to carry me over the chasm when I already jumped and shouted

"WULD",

and I landed hard and with a cry in the heap of the collapsed and still burning forge tent, ducking and rolling towards the cliff that separated me from the mine.

The Divines bless Eorlund for this armour. Although I rolled through licking flames, the scales didn't even feel warm. They wouldn't help against real dragonfire, though.

The dragon must have seen me coming, but the only sounds I heard for the next moments were the gasps and yells from the other side. As soon as I left the shelter of the ledge, the beast would be able to reach me with its blast

But I had to find a way up.

"Keep firing," a familiar voice finally roared, and I heard not only the whizzing of arrows, but also the dragon sucking in air for his next attack. This was my chance.

There were only two possibilities. Either I took the main ramp along the edge up to the mine entrance where the dragon would see me at one and risked that he simply shouted me down into the cleft. Or I tried to climb the ledge on the other side to get into his back. If he didn't notice me and I was very, very lucky, perhaps I'd even be able to surprise him from behind while he was still focused on the enemies pincushioning him - not very probable, but still worth a try.

As soon as I saw the blast shoot towards the archers, I crawled along the wall and made my way to the far side of the forging area. There was a way upwards - not really a path, more a route of protrusions I'd perhaps be able to use if they held my weight, if I didn't slip and most importantly if the dragon didn't notice me. I'd have to use all available limbs, no way to defend myself while I hang in there.

With a sigh I started my climb, pressed tightly to the wall, trying to be as quiet as possible. When I finally drew myself onto the remains of a rotten wooden walkway, I was panting heavily, the muscles in my shoulders, thighs and fingers burning, and the dragon greeted me with a friendly grin, lying flat on his belly, the long neck stretched towards me. The stench of his breath was suffocating. He had awaited me.

Now I knew what the frantic yelling was all about that I had so desperately tried to ignore.

We stared at each other for an endless moment while I slowly rose to my knees. Time always seemed to stand still in the presence of one of these mighty beings, when they recognised me and locked their souls into mine.

"FUS RO DAH!"

We shouted at the same time, his blast against my force. The fire streamed around me only for a second as I cowered behind my shield, it scorched my braids and blistered my exposed face, the steelen crosspieces and the chainmail of my armour heating up, but the dragon scales absorbed the worst of the impact. The Divines bless Eorlund.

It wasn't possible to move a dragon with this shout, they were simply too large, but it's possible to stagger, distract and interrupt them. His neck jerked back and up, his blast diverted harmlessly against the mountainside, and the beast staggered on his hind legs.

I used my chance and started my favourite attack against a dragon in his situation - climb him. The hind legs made an excellent ladder, and once I was up and on his back, the spikes along his spine served as fabulous grips on the way towards his front end. Not that this way was easy - usually a dragon wasn't exactly thrilled about a mortal scrambling along him. The fangs at the end of the long, flexible neck were still the biggest danger, as well as the possibility that he tried to take off, although this could be countered by severing the joints of his wings while I passed them. But once it was possible to reach the neck and especially the connection between neck and skull where the scales were easy to pierce, the dragon was as good as dead.

I made it, desperately clinging to the spikes on his back, all bones in my body rattling from his efforts to throw me off and without someone else distracting the beast - that would have been Farkas' job, but the archers had ceased fire out of fear to hit me. Dragonbane's slim blade slipped between and under the scales, severed tendons and sinews, its tip piercing the skullcap without much effort. The last exhale of the beast was a shrieking roar before he collapsed, and when the corpse started to dissolve, I fell more than jumped off to the ground.

But I had been too late, and the devastation was indescribable.

Too many were dead. Three of the miners, their bodies nearly unidentifiable. Two of the hunters and a little girl, Mauhulakh's daughter from his latest wife. And Dushnamub, his son, the blacksmith I retrieved the blasted gauntlet for. If I hadn't been on this useless trip, perhaps I would have been able to save them. Some of them, at least.

Mauhulakh was a broken man, kneeling over the corpse of his son, his olive skin paled to a greyish yellow under the smeared layers of ash and sweat, his lips bared over the fangs into a contorted expression of grief. It was his mother who had taken charge for the moment, who cared for the injured and sent out a group to retrieve the corpses of the miners. I met them on my way down the mountain and around the stronghold, and they greeted me with awe, respect and sorrow in their faces.

Farkas waited for me at the gate, the wise woman beside him, a healing potion ready. It was heavenly to feel the blisters on my neck recede, but when I took in the chaos around me, I felt a sting of guilt not to be hurt more severely.

It wasn't fair.

The old woman held herself demonstratively straight, nearly stiff, determination surpassing the sorrow in her face. But I smelled the despair she wouldn't allow to break through.

"We are in your debt, Dragonborn." Her tone was formal.

I shook my head. "No. I just did what I had to. And I was too late."

The woman faltered slightly. Perhaps she agreed. "We… we will go on. Somehow. Build again what has been destroyed. My son will take another wife."

"Yes. Yes, I suppose you will." I clenched my teeth, the hopelessness in her voice making me cringe.

The woman stared at my face. "We will send word to the other strongholds, Dragonborn. You will be welcome." She vanished into the longhouse without another word.

These people were doomed. They were too few, too secluded, too strict in following their old traditions in a world where dragons and a civil war already scratched on their doormat. If they didn't bend with the storm, it would break them, but I had the feeling these people would never bend. They'd rather perish like they had lived, proud and unyielding, than adapt to a changing world.

If the chieftain had just swallowed his stupid pride, I would have been here when it mattered.

But I didn't have the right to tell them how to live. I turned to Farkas, already adjusting the straps of my pack.

"Let's go."

"What, now? At once? Can't we… help?" He beckoned a wide gesture over the destructed site.

I turned to him sharply. "What do you wanna help? Are you a healer? Help to rebuild a forge they don't have a smith for? Help to prepare the dead? I doubt we'd be allowed to attend their burial rites. I really doubt they want us here, now."

He looked so helpless, his eyes on the chieftain who still knelt beside the scorched corpse of his son. "But… I thought…"

I put a hand on his forearm. "He's not your friend, Farkas. He tolerates you. Perhaps he even respects you. But he'd never turn to you for help or advice, no matter what happens. And you can't force him."

The only help we could offer these people - and dozens of similar settlements in Skyrim full of people who were helpless when death came swooping down on them - was to do what we set out for originally. Go and find the Elder Scroll, learn Dragonrend and kill Alduin.

Seeing the old mer on his knees, the burnt buildings and dead bodies, it didn't matter any more what happened to me, what danger waited ahead, what risks I had to take. My only duty was to survive until the World-Eater was dead.

Farkas saw the new determination in my face, and he understood what it meant. I already made the first steps down the mountain when I felt a gentle grip around my wrist. He pulled me without a word against his chest, his arms closing around me in a silent offer of comfort, and only released me when he felt me relax, a sad, small smile on his face.

It did matter what happened to me - it mattered to him. He was the one who held me in balance, and he wouldn't stop to put his weight into the scale.

But the lighthearted bliss of our honeymoon was over.


	3. Blind

A strange mood had smitten me when we left Narzulbur, that dreadful kind of mood that made every breath a fate-altering decision. The mood in which I felt the weight of the world on my shoulders and acquiesced with a sigh into carrying it around. A strange mixture of determination, masochism, self-pity and an inflated ego.

It was  _ not _ possible  to hang on such a mood for long with Farkas around.

He recognised it, and he understood, we had both seen the same horrible things, after all - and drawn the same conclusions. But while Alduin shadowed my thoughts, he retained the very sane opinion that nobody could move along more than a few steps with the weight of the world on his back.

In contrast to me, he didn't feel guilty for things that couldn't be changed. He knew very well what he was capable of, but he knew even better that many things were beyond his power. In opposite to me he saw what  _ could  _ have been  done, while I just saw what  _ should  _ have  been done. He saw that I didn't really have a choice but to go on that stupid trip for that stupid gauntlet - nobody knew that the dragon would attack, and it was an honour offered by the Chieftain himself. I just saw that I should have disregarded this offer because it  _was_ undeniably silly and that I should have been there.

I easily felt this pang of guilt that stuck in my stomach like a poisoned dagger. I could have saved lives if I had been faster this day. I could have saved even more lives if I had done what was necessary long ago, if I hadn't been so afraid to use the Scroll. So many months wasted, so many lives the dragons had taken in this time.

Farkas was the one who reminded me that, Dragonborn or not, some things were not in my control. That not everything bad happening in the world was my fault, and that I had the right to be afraid. That I also had the right to fall in love and to care for my friends and family and to be happy. That there was a life beside the Dragonborn duties, and that I not only had the right to live this life, but that it was essential. Nobody could be a world-saving hero all the time. Nobody could bear that burden for long without replenishing his energies.

Determination was supported, and a small share of self-pity was allowed. But masochism and an inflated ego had to go, and they were brushed away by the demands he made of me as his wife, as a Companion, as a simple human. And by the way he cared.

He brought me back down to earth and lifted my spirits by turning my mind back to the present, in his own, unmistakable way. He didn't even have to try, he didn't have to force a faux cheerfulness on me. It was just his way to deal with things, even with things as horrible as the destruction of Narzulbur.

And so he insisted on making camp early after this terrible day and told me if I wanted his fabulous rabbit stew for dinner, I'd have to hunt them myself. Nasty slippy little buggers. And when we reached Windhelm next afternoon and I just wanted to get some supplies and go on, he outright refused.

"Call me a wuss, but no way I'm gonna miss out on the last real bed for weeks. And a hot cider. And that fabulous bard they have in Candlehearth." He wagged his index at me. "And if you plan to spend the night in jail again, don't expect me to lift a finger for you!"

He drew me to the inn, paid for the night, shot a frightening bad-boy-look at the keeper when she dared to ask me not to cause any trouble this time and made for our room.

"Get out of your armour," he said with a grin, already unbuckling his own and leaving the pieces in a messy pile of bones, steel and leather. Fresh water from a pitcher was poured into a bowl, and he rubbed eagerly the warpaint from his face before he rummaged first through his own pack, then through mine and drew out some simple clothes. He shot me a prompting glance over his shoulder when he saw that I was still fumbling with my cuirass. "Get going, we don't have all day!"

"We don't have all day for  _ what _ ?" I asked suspiciously, watching his impatient behaviour slightly confused.

He slipped into a pair of lose pants. "We're going shopping. Incognito," he grinned.

It felt weird to stroll through the city in ordinary clothes, without the familiar weight of the armour on my shoulders and Dragonbane at my hip. I felt vulnerable, especially as we were both armed only with unobtrusive daggers, Farkas' tied to his belt, mine hidden in its sheath on my boot. But it also felt awesome to blend into the crowd, without looks and whispers following us, without attracting any attention.

But nevertheless I had to tell myself several times that it was safe. Windhelm was crawling with Stormcloak soldiers, and no Thalmor or assassin would dare to attack us inside these massive walls. The occasional pickpocket or bothersome drunk - we'd still be able to deal with them, even without gear that was meant to handle dragons.

After we visited the alchemist, the fletcher, the blacksmith and the grocer and got all the supplies we'd hopefully need for our journey into the unknown, Farkas bought me a crème treat and himself a sweetroll that we consumed on the stairs to one of the shops, just watching the comings and goings around us. Nobody even gave us a second look. Just an ordinary couple, resting after their purchases.

"Ah, that was good," I groaned content and gave him a grin. I could never eat a crème treat without giggling, especially not when he watched me with a particularly lascivious leer as I licked the remains of the creamy sweet filling off my fingers.

His shoulder nudged gently against mine. "I should get you out of your armour more often if it relaxes you like that," he chuckled.

"Hehe. I don't care what I wear as long as you keep these coming."

"Who knows, perhaps we'll find a Dwemer pastry shop in Blackreach. Perhaps it'll even still work." He laughed and stood up. "Come on, there's one more shop we have to visit. We can take all this stuff to the inn first, though."

He led me into the alleys of the Grey Quarter. I hadn't been there before, just heard about it, but the slum was even worse than I expected. Dark, filthy and moist, most of the houses in various stages of decay, the cobble pavement full of gaps and covered with filth and grime. The few Dunmer we met eyed us with open suspicion and hostility, and after my experiences with Galmar Stone-Fist's brother I couldn't blame them. At least Farkas seemed to know where he was going.

The store we entered at the end of a dark, narrow alley was a paradise of junk. A small room that was crammed full with shelves and cupboards, all of them stuffed with stuff. Incredible amounts of stuff, most of it worn, used, broken or simply useless, shelved into an unsorted chaos. I looked around in awe.

But Farkas approached the shopkeeper as if he knew exactly what he wanted. "Revyn Sadri?" he asked. When the man nodded, he stretched out his hand in a friendly greeting. The Dunmer ignored it, a gruff frown on his face.

"What do you want? I don't deal with Nords."

Farkas didn't lose his friendly demeanour. "We're friends of Athis from Whiterun. I guess you know him? He has recommended you if we're in search of… something special."

As soon as he had mentioned Athis' name, the mer's face lit up, and his posture lost its hostile stiffness. "Athis? Of course I know him! My, that guy has made his luck. And you're friends of him? Companions too? Excellent, excellent!" He shook the offered hand enthusiastically and gave me a beaming smile. "What are you looking for? Something in particular?"

Farkas laughed at his eagerness. "Well, we have a whole household to furnish. If you just show us what you have in stock, I'm sure we'll find something."

Revyn Sadri was apparently the only importer of original wares from his homeland far and wide, especially the rare varieties from the mostly destroyed island of Vvardenfell, and he led us into a small backchamber to present his treasures.

I didn't believe my eyes. He had the most beautiful tableware, made from opaque, shimmering blue glass or perfectly glazed dark red clay, wonderful carpets and blankets woven in the intricate ornamental designs of the Ashlanders, books with the history and legends of Morrowind, extravagant silken tunics and dresses from Mournhold that seemed to flow through my fingers. There were potions and alchemical ingredients I had never seen and instruments for a kind of music I had never heard before, raw pelts and treated leathers from animals I couldn't even imagine, armours of adamantium and a strange material gained from the shells of giant insects. Even his glass weapons were much harder and lighter than the ones we knew in Skyrim.

I felt like a kid in a candy shop when I turned to Farkas. "That's not fair. You know I'm broke," I mumbled.

"Yeah, but I'm not, and my coin is your coin," he laughed and bent down to me. "That's  _ my _ wedding  gift. Originally I wanted to get you something special for your room in Jorrvaskr when Athis gave me the tip. But I'm sure you'll find something for Breezehome as well."

Revyn Sadri made the deal of his life that day. We bought dishes and carpets and blankets and a lot of other stuff we'd need for Breezehome. I took one of these beautiful daggers for me and a pair of awesome chitin gloves for Athis. He would love them. And in the end, Farkas laid one of those silken dresses on top of the pile of our purchases, dyed in shades of blue and cyan that seemed to come directly from the aurora over Whiterun and adorned with silvery embroidery. My face grew hot when I held it against myself, watched by both men. With that cut, more slits than seams, it wasn't worth to be called a  _ dress _ .

"I won't wear that!"

Farkas watched me, leant against a shelf with his arms crossed over his chest, and looked very content. "Oh yes, you will," he grinned smugly, "and only for me."

* * *

Two dead bodies in the ice-covered depths of the ruin, one old and frozen, one freshly slain. The last remains of life other than ours in this endless abyss of lifeless, ice-covered machinery. The promise of hidden treasures had lured them inside, deceived them with the strange, ancient beauty of this place and finally caused their demise.

We were treasure hunters too.

Alftand was located high in the northern mountains, a bare desert of ice and snow, lifeless except for the occasional frost troll, snow bear and the everpresent ice wraiths. Once the climate here must have been gentler, but now the ruins were nearly completely swallowed by a huge glacier rolling down the mountainside, and only the tips of the highest towers still revealed their location.

An empty camp outside already hinted at the dread inside. It was abandoned, the remains scattered around, the fires long dead. Someone simply hadn't come back. We searched through the tattered tents with our weapons ready, but found nothing that indicated the fate of their owners. Farkas lifted an eyebrow.

"Cautious. They can only be inside."

Alftand's upper levels were covered in ice just like the outside, but that didn't prevent the mechanical spiders and automatons to go against us with their ancient routines of lightning attacks and poisoned darts. And we found the remains of the unlucky band of adventurers - the occasional deeply frozen body, remains of interim camps, long extinguished torches which had thawed the frozen shell of walls, pipes and grates and left nothing but glassy puddles of ice on the floor that made our progress just more difficult.

The Khajiit brothers were just the first we found. One of them had been dead for days or weeks, his frozen body giving no clue about the time that had passed. The other, still speaking with the corpse, lost deeply in the madness of Skooma withdrawal and loneliness, accused us of thieving and died to our swords.

These Dwemer ruins had a way to drive people mad with their constant movements, the noises echoing through the hallways, the plethora of deadly traps and the ubiquitous artificial life. So different than a normal muddy cave or even a tomb where only the dead and some skeevers shuffled around. Even if they were clearly ruins and abandoned for eras, they always made the appearance as if their former owners had  _ just  _ left . As if they'd come back every minute. As if the next room would be bustling with life.

Turning around a corner we faced a long aisle that was lined by suspicious tubes protruding from the walls high above our heads. Each of them would release a mechanical spider when we came closer.

"How do they do that? How do they know we're here?" Farkas asked under his breath, already readying his sword. He hated the eight-legged automatons nearly as much as their living counterparts.

I shrugged. "No idea. Perhaps our bodywarmth. Or the pattern of our steps." I beckoned him to take the lead and nocked an arrow. "Go on, we can't avoid them anyway."

The deeper we pushed forward the warmer it became, the icy covers receding and releasing shimmering metal, huge pipe systems that were warm to the touch and whole rooms shaking from the vibrations of hidden, but still working contraptions. Our way went steadily downwards, from hall to hall, past living quarters and rooms full of moving, stomping, steaming machinery, through huge metal doors that opened far too easy and far too noiseless.

Another lever, and when the wings of the gate slowly swung inwards, the stench overwhelming our nostrils let us jerk back. Farkas saw me blanch and lowered a soothing hand on my shoulder. "Quiet," he whispered, "they hear every sound."

To know about the horrible fate of the Snow Elves didn't make it any easier to encounter their descendants. The Falmer evoked an irrational horror in me, vile, evil, twisted creatures, fighting in the darkness with poison and deceit. We had bought every single bottle of antidote the alchemist in Windhelm had in stock.

This hall was a pit, bottomless and much darker than the rest of the ruins, lined at the outside by a narrow ramp and intermitted by small platform that held their crude huts. We heard more than saw, restless shuffling, silent shrieks and hissed answers, the clicks of the chaurus' chitinous pincers. And we smelled this stench that sent goosebumps down my arms. The foul stench of crushed, rotten mushrooms mingling with the acrid, poisonous evaporations of the deathly creatures at the bottom, the moistness from their eggnests and a sour odour of sweat.

It was the stench of hate against every living soul coming from outside, and we had to go through it.

I pressed myself against the wall, trying not to peek into the abyss when we started to descend. Cold sweat pooled above my brows. We weren't quiet enough - Farkas was never really silent, and I heard my own pants - and we recognised the shift in the noises below us. The notion of an alert. But we crept forwards, undisturbed, until we reached a collapse where the ramp was destroyed, leaving a gap impossible to cross. We had to jump down onto the next level, where the body of an Orsimer woman lay in a puddle of blood on a heap of broken stones.

We still contemplated our options when the first arrow whizzed past my ear and hit the wall behind my shoulder. Dropping down to present a smaller target, Farkas turned to me with a growl, his eyes showing the familiar golden tint. My body responded unconsciously to the signals of its mate.

"Follow me."

Farkas jumped down the gap with a powerful leap, the man with the power of the beast, and let out a deafening roar while still falling. He didn't change, but he made use of his wolf, and I followed him, reached into the well of instincts that was at my disposal, sharpening my senses and reflexes.

We were at an advantage because we could hear and smell good enough, but we could also see them, the horrible figures with their sickly pale grey skin, twisted faces and scarred, blind eye sockets. But we were only two against what felt like an army. I leaped onto the pile of stones and kicked the corpse of the unlucky adventurer down into the pit. The hectic clicking of the chaurus' pincers proved that they appreciated the gesture.

The Falmer were spread over the ramp, only a few of them coming for us with vicious black swords and clubs, but many of them firing from afar.

"Keep moving," I yelled at Farkas, but he did it anyway, already in a frantic fight with three of the enemies. I stayed behind him, took out the archers, not caring for a mage at first who had taken cover in one of the crude huts. Poison was more dangerous than lightning, but the bolts hitting me let my limbs convulse, each impact sending spasms down my spine and obscuring my aim. Farkas more sensed than saw what was happening, two dull thuds proved that he made short work of his foes and shoved them down into the darkness before he leaped down the ramp and after the wizard.

I heard his triumphant roar when I passed him, rushing down towards the bottom, the faint blueish glow from the egg piles guiding my way. The chaurus breeding area was separated by clawlike gates, vicious looking tips fitting together like the fangs of a dragon. Behind them, we saw the movements of the huge, pitch black insects, their pincers dripping with poison.

"Can't we just leave them behind?" I pointed at the gate. "I don't wanna go in there. These things creep me out."

"It's just big bugs," Farkas grinned, "and no, I'd rather not leave anything living behind."

They weren't just big bugs. They were huge, their monstrous heads nearly on eye-level when reared up for attack, scuttling towards us with aggressive clicks, ready to tear into flesh. Farkas stormed in, sword raised to pierce through the brittle shells and shield ready to protect him against their bites.

The moment I let my arrow fly against the last of the creatures, his pain-stricken roar echoed through the cavern and let me freeze. He had fallen to his knees and dropped his weapon. A corpse lay in front of him, but one of the creatures clung to his back, the sound of its legs scratching over the bones of his armour nauseating. It had fallen out of a kind of nest, a wet shimmering tube glued to the wall high over our heads and taken him by surprise, giving the chaurus he fought against opportunity to deal his attack.

And now he knelt hunched into a ball, jerking convulsively to shake the beast off. Greenish droplets trickled down his cheeks and neck, leaving red marks and ugly blisters behind.

_ Bugs _ didn't spit acidic poison.

"Hands off," I yelled at him, stabbing frantically into the shuffling mess before me until I felt Dragonbane's tip slip between the plates of the carapace and it finally collapsed into a heap to the ground. I impaled the thing on his back and shoved it away. Farkas writhed on the floor, his whole body spasming, trying desperately not to touch the injury in his face. And he wailed in pain. I had never heard him scream like that, in such blinding agony, and I had seen him with many injuries that on first glance seemed much more lethal.

He looked terrifying, the acid etching into the raw flesh of his face, his left eye milky and unseeing. I knelt on his chest, trying to keep him stable and to lock his spasming arms, and fumbled my water skin from my belt.

"It hurts," he whimpered, "my eye!"

"I know," I said, curling my hand into his neck, "don't touch. ‘t will be better soon."

I whispered soothing nonsense while I carefully washed away the liquid, cleaned the wounds with a shirt torn into strips and rinsed his eye until we were out of fresh water, and slowly I felt him relax, felt how he forced himself to deepen his shallow breath and not to flinch at the touch of my fingers. When I helped him to sit up and handed him the antidote, he gulped it down in one go, directly followed by a healing potion. The draughts and a touch of my healing spell left only tender, sore scars in his face, the newly formed skin soft to the touch.

But his left eye was blind, and when I fastened a clean cotton strip and around his head to cover it, sheer terror was written into his face. Because it didn't make a difference if it was covered or not.

"Will it… heal?" He stood on wobbly legs, weak from shock and pain, and his voice was shaky.

I touched his face gently and gave him an encouraging smile. "I don't know. We can just hope, but it will take time. We'll see the healers in Winterhold, I'm sure they can help you."

His fingers palpated along the bandage. "Divines, that hurt." His voice was low, and he looked so incredibly helpless. As if he was ashamed to show such weakness. I took both our packs and drew his arm over my shoulder.

"Come on. Let's get you out of here, okay?" He just nodded, his gaze set to the ground.

But it wasn't so easy to get out. The way back was blocked by the collapsed ramp, and the way forward by more enemies, more Falmer creeping in the shadows, more Dwemer automatons springing to life in the least expected moments. Farkas gritted his teeth and followed my lead, but his movements were clumsy and precarious, and when he was nearly impaled by a spike trap because he didn't see it in time, I told him to stay behind and let me clear the way. It would take some time until he got used to have only half of his field of view.

When he started to stumble along and was nearly pushed off a ledge by a moving piston, I decided to find a place to rest. Without fresh water it was the worst decision possible, but we didn't have much choice, and so we settled in a small, secluded chamber we could at least bar from the inside. Farkas fell asleep without eating as soon as I had placed our bedrolls on the cold stone, clinging to me for warmth and safety.

The patch had to be ripped off after a few hours of rest, sticky with blood, tears and the oozing from the sore flesh beneath it. When I covered his healthy eye with my palm, he saw nothing. Not even a shadow, just blackness. To see him tense and clench his teeth, trying desperately not to freak out on this loss of sensation nearly made  _ me _ lose  control. He swallowed heavily when I took my hand away.

"How does it look like?"

I had to be honest. "Not good. Sore. But the eye still waters, I think that's a good sign."

He nodded slowly. "Yes, perhaps. It also still hurts." It didn't look as if he believed in my words.

I drew him to his feet. "Come on, you really have to get out of here. I need water to clean it."

If I had known how near we were to the exit I would've brought him out of these cursed ruins and spared him this night of pain and thirst. The next huge golden gate led us into a big circular room, void of anything but two beautiful golden statues, shimmering metal figures more than twice the size of a man, their bearded faces the same as the many similar busts that decorated the whole place. If this was what the Dwemer of old looked like, they had been a handsome race.

One of the statues lay broken and crumpled in front of its pedestal, but the other still stood proud and tall, overlooking the room and the broad staircase leading to the next door.

Until we approached and it awoke with a quiver and a hiss of steam. Of course it wasn't just a statue. Nothing in these ruins was just decorative.

"Back off," I yelled at my companion, but Farkas didn't react. Instead he drew his weapon, his stance alert and ready to attack.  _ Fool _ .

The colossus stomped towards us with earthquaking steps, his arms raised and the massive metal fists ready to smash every intruder into a smeary heap of pulp. But this thing wasn't just an intelligent oversized cudgel. Suddenly an arm shot forward, and the fist released a blast of hot steam that would have cooked us alive if I hadn't shoved us both out of the way with raw force. I felt the hot vapour stream over my shield when I buried Farkas beneath me.

For a moment we were a petrified, uncoordinated tangle of limbs, but the next step of the Centurion let the metal ground tremble, and I sprung into action. The time for heroism and risks was over, none of us would get near this thing.

_ "YOL TOOR SHUL!" _

My trusted Dragonfire. Dwemer metal could withstand it, at least for a time, but when the water supplies the behemoth used for his steam blast vaporised all at once, he simply exploded under the pressure and decomposed into a pile of dented scrap.

"Fine," I glared at Farkas, "what was that? I tell you to back off, and you get ready to  _ fight _ ? You wanna kill us both now?"

Gods, he looked so contrite. But he'd have to come to terms with the fact that at the moment, he was more risk than help.

He raised his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "I'm sorry, Qhouri," he said lowly, his gaze at his feet, "that was stupid, I know. But I'll have to unlearn to have your back first." His expression showed nothing but self-contempt and despair.

My anger blew away like the steam in the air when he dropped his forehead on my shoulder, his back trembling. I lifted my hand to his charred cheek and stroked the tender skin. "Hey," I said softly, "don't you dare. I need you in my back. But right now you're gonna let me have yours, okay?"

We stood like that for several minutes, and I held his stiff, rigid body until I felt him relax. A deep sigh escaped him when I tucked a sweaty strand of hair out of his face. "Thank you," he said quietly, "I'll do my best."

I made a few steps away from him. "Stand there. I gotta show you something." I foraged through my pack and drew out an apple. "Do you see me?"

"Sure." He looked slightly confused.

"You see what I have here?"

"Yeah, an apple. I'm hungry." A small grin curled his lips, the first for hours.

I laughed at him. "Catch it if you want it."

I threw it straight into his direction, and the apple flew past his head, Farkas' hands clapping together far behind. He gasped in shock.

"See," I said, "not only do you not see what happens on your left side, you also can't estimate distance and speed of moving objects any more. That's what you'll have to relearn."

The way his body tensed it was obvious that helpless frustration was short of boiling over. His voice was a rumbling growl. "Gods, I'm completely  _ useless _ . A cripple. I'm really gonna get us killed!"

I grabbed his shoulders in an effort to get him out of this mood. "Listen to me and stop this nonsense. You're not useless, you're just injured. And even if you lose the eye, you will learn. Your senses and your brain will adapt. It will just take some time, and until then I'm gonna help you for once."

"But… I feel so…" He was lost for words.

I shook him. "Helpless. I know. And you are, for now, and that's why you better do what I say. Tell me, was Skjor useless?"

"Skjor? No. Of course not." He paused for a moment. "Oh."

I smiled at him. "See? Nobody would have dared not to take him seriously just because he had only one eye. He did fine, and you will too. And apart from that, it's far too early to panic. Let's wait what the healers in Winterhold say, okay?"

"How do you know all this?" Finally he managed to show me a small quirk of his lips.

"Have you never spoken with Skjor how he got this injury?"

"Gods, no. He never liked to speak about his time in the War."

"Well, I was curious, I asked him and he told me. One evening in the mare, after a couple of meads," I grinned.

The next gate was finally the last. It opened as noiseless as all the others and led us into the last room of these blasted ruins, a huge dome with a platform in the middle and another gate in the back, framed by some pillars. And between these pillars, we heard voices. Angry voices shouting at each other, one male and one female, and the sounds of a fight.

I looked at Farkas who stood behind me, peeking over my shoulder. "Whoever they are, they cheated!" I whispered, "how in Oblivion did they get past that giant?" He just shrugged.

We didn't interfere as the fight continued, and they slowly made their way towards the central platform, but finally a Redguard woman turned out victorious. She stripped the weapon of her enemy and leant curiously over the strange device in the middle of the room.

Farkas shuffled in my back. "Friend or foe?" This time it was my turn to shrug. We'd see.

I nocked an arrow and stepped out of the shadows. The woman froze, then turned with a yell and charged - foe, obviously. She died with the arrow through her throat.

The attunement sphere from Septimus Signus fit perfectly into the mechanism in the centre and revealed an endless, pitchblack staircase into the depths. This had to be the entrance to Blackreach. And it would have to wait.

Because the gate in the back led to a platform that went upwards. All on its own, after we switched a lever. I didn't want to know how it worked, but we got out where we got in, near the abandoned camp of the unlucky treasure hunters, in a small dome that had been locked from the outside. Now from the inside we could open the door, and Farkas started to laugh hysterically when he stepped into the bright daylight.

"We should have taken one of your thieves with us," he hiccuped between snickers, "or you have to take lockpicking lessons with Brynjolf. So much less trouble if we'd been able to open this damned door right from the beginning!"

It was only noon when we left Alftand, and we just took the time to start a small fire and melt enough snow to quench our thirst and clean Farkas' wound. The eye was clotted by a sticky mess of dried tears and oozing blood, but at least the blood seemed to come mostly from the sore skin around it that was again ripped open when I removed the patch. He held perfectly still when I let the lukewarm water trickle over his eyeball, and he said that it didn't hurt as much any more.

We made some simple tests – the injured eye still moved synchronous with the healthy one when he looked at something, and the pupil still reacted slightly to light and darkness. And when he covered both eyes for some time and then jerked away the palm on the left, a broad, genuine smile crept into his features.

"It's lighter, Qhouri! I can't see any shapes, but I can see that it's lighter out here!" The happiness over this small glimpse of hope shone from his face.

To see him smile like that was like a sunrise, and all at once it broke the tension of worry and concern that had built up over the last day. I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him deeply, and his hands palmed my face, his thumbs wiping away the tears of relief. "Hey," he whispered, "what happened?"

"Nothing. I just missed your smile," I sobbed and felt silly, especially when he pulled me closer to comfort me.

But we could have spared ourselves the trip to Winterhold, because the College healers were useless. Absolutely useless. The Breton mage who called herself Mistress of Restoration Magic examined Farkas' eye carefully, just to declare in far too many inscrutable, longwinded, elaborate words that there was nothing she could do. That the burned iris would have to regenerate naturally, and that she couldn't make any predictions if it would heal completely and how long it would take.

The longer her lecture took, the more I wanted to smash my fist into her pretty face. Pretty, but oh so incredibly useless. Instead I smashed it into the wood of the door after she had left our room, so hard I nearly broke my knuckles. "Bloody shit," I growled in a choked voice, punching the door over and over again, "cursed Daedra, what a godsdamned crap!"

Farkas sat on a chair, his forehead buried in his palms. At least the healer had given him a leather eyepatch so we could get rid of these sticky cotton bandages. He sighed deeply. "Shouldn't I be the one to freak out now?"

I turned sharply, ready to yell at him and only bit my tongue in the last moment. Divines. He was the injured one, he was in pain and didn't know if and when he'd be healed. Was I really such an egoistic bitch that I thought of nothing but my own matters? Yes, I was.

"Hey, come here," he said softly, but I just shook my head frantically, pacing through the room.

"I know what you're gonna say, and I don't wanna hear it!" Now I  _ did _ yell  at him. "I don't wanna hear that you can't come with me to Blackreach. Don't you dare to say that you're a burden and that I should take someone else. Keep your fucking common sense to yourself!"

"Qhouri, please… be reasonable."

"I'm tired of being reasonable!" My forefinger pointed accusingly at him. "Gods, we've only just married! I'm tired of counting the days and hours every time we're together. I just wanna be with you, is that too much to ask?"

His head jerked up, brows furrowed. And he shouted. "Shor's balls, woman, you think I'm  _ happy  _ about this?" His thundering outbreak, totally unaccustomed from him, let me stand rooted to the spot.

But it was over as soon as it began, and his slumping shoulders clearly indicated the same helplessness I felt. "Come here, please." When he reached out and drew me onto his knees, I let my angry resistance go.

"I'd get us killed down there, Qhouri. I'm useless as a shield-brother at the moment, and it will take weeks or months till I'm fit again. You heard the healer. I'd allow nobody in my condition just to clear a bear den with you, and we've no idea what awaits you in Blackreach."

My forehead dropped against his. "But I need you. For so much more than just to shield my back. I can keep you safe!"

He shook his head, a sad smile on his face. "I want nothing more than to come with you, explore this place and find this friggin' scroll, you know that. But it's not gonna happen, not now."

"Then I'll wait till you're okay again," I said stubbornly.

"Months, Qhouri? Really?" His one-eyed gaze pierced into mine. "Do you have so much time?"

Holy Kyne. The images of Narzulbur flashed through my mind. If I delayed this task even further now, if I wasted even more time… there was no excuse. Not any more.

"How can you be so damned reasonable? Why don't you tell me that you won't let me go down there without you?"

His smile didn't reach his eyes. "Every time I try to forbid you something you threaten to kill me, remember?" He hid his face in my neck, muffling his voice. "I know you, Qhouri. You have to go on now. And I won't hold you back."

I buried my hand in the tresses of his hair. He never looked so vulnerable as in this moment.

"I'd throw apples at you, all day long. And scare you from behind until you sense me coming."

His smile was thin. "You can't scare me, I always know when you're near. Doesn't work with friggin' machines, though."

"So, that's it then? We return to Jorrvaskr, and I ask around who of our siblings has time to search through this blasted kingdom with me? Perhaps I should just go alone. Didn't even manage to keep you safe, after all." The bitterness in my voice was unmistakable, and Farkas held me at arm's length, his face deadly serious.

"Don't you even think about it. It was my own stupidity that brought me into this mess, and I already feel horrible enough. To think about you alone down there in the darkness where no one knows what lurks around… I'll tie you up and carry you to Jorrvaskr myself if I have to,  _ Companion _ ."

It was a tired, silent dinner we had that evening, and I just ate enough to calm my growling stomach before I retreated. I felt my wolf pace through the chambers of my mind, scratching the thin walls and begging to get released. Frustration and anger did that to her, and I felt itchy and restless. But instead to let her run through the snowy wilderness or calm her with some sour ale, I lay tired, shivering and wide awake, fighting nausea and nervousness.


	4. Disappointment

Winterhold was a frozen, hopeless, useless wreck of a city. Even in such a godsforsaken corner of Skyrim a city that wasn't even able to come up with a halfway decent breakfast deserved to collapse into the sea.

I had barely slept and woke with the first light, a dull ache lingering in my bones and a queasy feeling in my stomach. Everything grated on my nerves, the snowflakes whirling in erratic patterns outside of our window, the chilly dampness of my armour and the stiffness of the straps, Vilkas' amulet that I shoved between cuirass and tunic where I could ignore that it was there.

And especially the bowl full of thin, watery, lukewarm slime the inn-keeper sold us as porridge. Disgusting.

"If you leave out on breakfast something is really wrong, Qhouri," Farkas said.

"I should've gone hunting tonight," I scowled, "this stuff isn't edible." When I shoved the bowl away, he started to empty it, but his face was concerned. "Come on," he said finally and pushed back his chair, "let's pack our stuff and get off."

But when the door of our room had closed behind us, he pulled me against his chest. He sighed when he saw my uneasy smile. "I hate it when you're like that. So unhappy."

"I'm just tired, Farkas. So tired. I hate that you got injured, and I don't wanna return to Jorrvaskr. This whole trip was a disaster so far."

His face softened, and he looked down on me with a warm smile. "Riften wasn't."

I felt my lips curl, somehow against my own will, and rested my head with closed eyes against the wall of his chest. Gods, I was so tired. "If you're honest, even Riften was a disaster," I chuckled lowly.

But his hand curled around my chin and forced me to look up to him, his gaze locking into mine. "No, it wasn't. It was wonderful. It was the best day of my life, and you better never forget that."

I felt much better when the village finally vanished behind us and we climbed the first hills on the road towards Windhelm. Even the weather got better when we left the vicinity of Winterhold, and soon I was throwing snowballs at Farkas and had lots of fun with his clumsy attempts to catch them. He shook himself like a wet whelp and cursed violently when icy water started to leak under his armour, but he appreciated the change of mood from brooding to mischief at least as much as I. This was training, after all.

He turned the tables though when suddenly a strong arm slung around my waist and he pushed me head first into a snowdrift, holding me up only by my ankles until I choked and gasped for air. His whole body shook with unbridled laughter. "That'll teach you not to make fun of your husband, woman," he snickered.

"That teaches me nothing but not to get caught next time," I grinned, shaking the lose snow from my hair and rubbing my cheeks, bright red from cold and exertion.

When he managed to ward himself against a snowball and the missile burst on his bracers into a fog of white powder, we both wailed in triumph.

We made more than half of the distance to Windhelm on the first day, and it was an easy trip. In this Stormcloak territory we didn't have to fear to meet rampaging Thalmor patrols, and other distractions were few – a few bandits, a thief we sent back to Riften with greetings instead of gold, the occasional pack of wolves and a couple of sabrecats. Nothing spectacular.

But I knew something gnawed on Farkas when he became suspiciously quiet for more than a few minutes and I felt his boring gaze on me.

I turned to him. "What's the matter? What's the staring for?"

He flashed me a sheepish grin. "Nothing."

"Doesn't look like nothing. Something's bothering you."

"It's just... you wanna take Athis to Blackreach?"

"Yeah," I shrugged. "If he has time."

"I know you're good together. But perhaps you should go with someone else."

"Why?" Of course I wanted to go with Athis. He had already explored Dwemer ruins when he still lived on Vvardenfell.

"Because with his daggers, he'd be useless against something like that giant. And you can't shout all the time." He gave me a fleeting grin. "You need something badass."

"Athis is badass!"

"Of course he is. Just not against a giant heap of steaming metal."

I didn't want to discuss this now. "We'll see. Perhaps I'll take Ria or Torvar."

He chewed pensively on his lip. "Or Vilkas."

I stopped dead. I must have misheard. "You can't be serious."

But he nodded slowly. "He's the best. And he has the most experience of us all with this Dwemer and Falmer stuff. Even more than I."

As if that was important. My voice was icy. "Your brother _hates_ me, Farkas! Are you crazy?"

He explored my face, searching and probing. "Bullshit, Qhouri. Vilkas doesn't hate you. And he knows if you even suffered so much as a scratch, I'd make his death longer and more painful than everything he could ever think of."

"Oh, and you think that's a good basis to work together? To rely on each other? Because he's _afraid_ ofyou? Gods no!" I shook my head, still not believing he really made this suggestion. Vilkas, of all people!

"Why not?"

I stared into his face. "You really expect me to trust him with my life? _You'd_ trust him with my life?"

"Yes. I want to know you're safe, and I'd trust him to keep you safe."

"But _I_ don't. End of discussion." That proclamation didn't impress him in the slightest.

"But you trusted him against the hunters in Hircine's cave. You said he saved you then."

He was really serious. He really tried to cajole me into this madness. "Farkas, please. He had to save me to save himself. He didn't have a choice, and I didn't either."

"He would have died for you in that cave."

I snorted. "How touching! And you know that how?"

"He told me. And I believe him." Utter conviction sounded from his voice.

"You know exactly that he'd tell you everything. Don't be so naïve."

"He wouldn't lie to me!"

"Of course he would, the bloody coward! Have you forgotten what he's done?" One of us was missing something, and I was sure it wasn't me. "He left me to die on that godsforsaken beach. He ran away from you all when he vanished from Jorrvaskr, he ran away from us in Falkreath, and he didn't even have the balls to show his face when we came to Rorikstead. _For him._ After _I_ dealt with Hircine. How much more proof do you need?"

"He didn't run away from you in Rorikstead. He wanted to speak with you. Really. He only kept away because I told him to leave you alone. You were so badly injured… and I knew you didn't want to deal with him."

I exploded. "But I still don't want to deal with him, don't you get it? And I certainly don't want to spend days or weeks in some bloody cave with him, alone and dependent on each other. That's insane! Can we _please_ endthis ridiculous discussion? Keep… Vilkas… out of my eyes!"

I turned on my heels and strode down the street, not waiting if he followed. He lowered his gaze, defeated.

I was seething. Curse those twins. Curse this man who tore himself apart by trying to protect those he cared for. As if we hadn't enough problems to deal with. But when I looked over my shoulder and found him standing where I had left him, staring after me with this torn, beaten look, I waited for him.

"Okay. You've got to get that off your chest. What happened after Rorikstead? What makes you so certain?"

"It's not important." He refused to look at me.

"It seems that it is."

"No, it isn't. Not for you. If you really wanted to know, you'd have asked long ago." His gaze was cold and distant. "Forget it, okay? I'll keep him out of your eyes."

Now I stopped my walk and watched after him. He distanced himself from me, didn't want me to share in his experiences and what occupied him so obviously. Of course he didn't. I had told him more than once that I had no interest in his relationship to his brother.

My hand went to the amulet at my throat. I wore it, Vilkas' gift – even if I had to block out that it was made by the same hands that had touched me so violently. But Farkas wore the other half, and he had given me the happiest smile when I fastened the band around his neck and he did the same for me.

But perhaps this gift wasn't meant as two parts that belonged together. Perhaps it was just a reminder how easy it was to split something that seemed to be whole.

I hurried to catch up to him and grabbed his arm. "It's important if it bothers you," I said imploringly. "Tell me what happened. Please."

His answer was curt and meaningless. "We went to Morthal first. That's why I was late. Then to Markarth and then to Skyhaven."

"Farkas… please."

He turned sharply to me. "What do you wanna hear? That it was his idea to escort Erik to Morthal because he wanted to see his nieces? That we've hunted together and that it was like in old times? How much time he spent with Calcelmo for you or how thankful he was that he had a place to stay, even if it was with _Delphine?_ " He clenched his teeth. "You don't want to know all this. All _you_ want to know is that he suffers, and all you will get from this is that he doesn't suffer enough. You told us before... Kodlak and me, that there's no solution. That it will never end."

He wasn't just miffed. So much frustration radiated from him that I took a startled step back.

"I don't know what you expect from me."

"Nothing!" he snapped. "No one expects anything from you! I will keep him out of your eyes, okay?"

"Godsdammit, _you_ made this idiotic suggestion!"

"Yes, because you're not honest with me!" He spun around, grabbed the leather band around my neck and pulled the amulet from beneath my cuirass. It dangled from his fist as he held it accusingly in front of my face. "Why do you wear this thing?" he barked, one eye flaring with fury. "You hate it. You loathe it. You hated that I spent those weeks with him and still you sent me off. And if you don't wanna know the answers, then _don't ask!_ "

I snatched the trinket from his grip and pushed him back. "What would you like instead, that I tell you to never see him again?"

"Yes! At least then I'd know where you stand!"

"You know exactly where I stand!" I yelled. "Gods, if it weren't for you he'd be long dead!" I shoved past him, the claws on my pauldrons scratching his arm. A small boulder I kicked furiously down the slope towards the sea took a small avalanche with it, and I had to blink against the sting in my eyes. We had had so much fun only a few minutes ago. What had gotten into him that he made such a fuss suddenly? Why did he have to bring this nonsense up at all? He knew beforehand how I'd react.

This time, I didn't look back as I stomped down the street. A carriage would take me from Windhelm to Whiterun, and I had more important things to take care of than the stupid ideas my stupid husband had about his stupid brother.

Eventually he caught up, but he went quietly half a step behind me, staring into the distance, his jaw set. The silence was oppressive and cold and made me cringe inwardly. I couldn't keep up my anger when he was like this, so distant and withdrawn into himself. No fight about Vilkas was worth that we didn't speak with each other.

When I let my hand slip into his, I felt him hesitate for a moment. But then he grasped it firmly, returning the press of my fingers.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. I'm just a selfish fool."

I rolled my eyes. "Farkas, please."

He chewed on his lower lip. "Have you noticed that every time we fight, we fight about Vilkas?"

Especially when he came up with stupid ideas. I had no idea what this was about. I shrugged helplessly. "Yeah. But at the moment I really don't get why you freaked out like that."

"Because I'm selfish."

"No, you're not. What's the matter?"

His gaze was set on the ruins of a tomb that we passed in the distance. He took a deep breath. "Perhaps this is how it has to be. That there's no solution for you and him. Perhaps you're right." He looked tired as he became quiet for a moment, rubbing his forehead. "But every time you do something like that... like wearing that amulet, or asking questions about him as if you really wanted to know... I start to hope that it could perhaps be different. That perhaps, one day, you'll find a way to deal with him that's not for me, but for yourself." He gave me a sidewards glance. "And then I come up with stupid ideas, and we end up fighting."

I had to let this settle for a moment. Yes, Vilkas stood between us, we still stood on opposite sides when it came to him. But it had always been this way, and we lived with it – ignoring the fact whenever possible, finding compromises when not. Trying not to hurt each other. Only that it didn't always work.

"I thought... we have a solution. You do with him whatever you want, and he leaves me alone."

"But we fight about him, and it's not worth it. I won't allow that he comes between us." He let go of my hand and stood before me, his finger trailing along the leather band around my neck. I had stuffed the amulet back between armour and tunic. "I will not see him again, Qhouri. And you should take this off. You don't have to wear it for me."

I didn't know what to do. He knew me so well and was so insistent in what he thought was right. Perhaps he was indeed. Perhaps I should just rip it off and throw it away.

But I couldn't rip Vilkas out of my life, and he couldn't either. He was there, in his head and in mine, in stupid ideas and so many little things. He didn't leave me alone in so many ways. There were Farkas and the pack, bonds that included us both, but this little trinket was the only tangible connection I had to him. I could only touch it with revulsion, and still I wore it. It wasn't _only_ for Farkas. It was something between Vilkas and me, a constant itch in the back of my mind that he was still there. A challenge I didn't understand and couldn't ignore.

I didn't ask questions about him only to appease his brother. I asked because I _wanted to know_.

I couldn't help these questions. I couldn't help the morbid, unhealthy curiosity I felt for this man and the uneasy feeling that I didn't know him as good as I should, considering what we had been through together. If only to have a weapon against him.

Perhaps I'd need it, perhaps not – I didn't know.

And I had to acknowledge Farkas' opinion, even if it was hard to share it.

But so much had happened and so much had changed since that fight in the shipwreck – I had changed, had gained strength and confidence. I owed a lot of this strength to the man beside me. Farkas had always believed in me, unfaltering from the very beginning. He had taught me to believe in myself – and to trust in others.

He also believed in his brother. Perhaps he always had, but he wouldn't have made this suggestion if he didn't mean it. Ha had known how I'd react, but he also knew his brother better than anyone else. Was it right to call him insane? Perhaps Vilkas owed him as much as I.

Perhaps more change was possible if I could bring myself to allow it.

He watched me expectantly.

"I'm not sure that will change anything," I said lowly. "I shouldn't force you to find a solution for me."

"You're my wife. He has no right to make demands."

"Yeah, but he does. He expects you to take care of him, and he knows he has to share you with me." I grunted annoyed. "Gods, that sounds horrible. As if you're a sweetroll we can split between us."

"Sometimes I feel like one." A small smile quirked his lips. "But you got that wrong anyway. It's not about me."

"Of course it is. He must hate that we're together."

He shook his head. "You said he doesn't have to get through you to get to me. But that's not what he's trying." He pointed at my throat. "This thing... he made it for us. But most of all did he make it for you. He tries to use me to get to you, not the other way around."

I was dumbfounded, and a shiver crept up my spine.

"Why would he do that?"

"He needs you."

"No one on Nirn needs me less than Vilkas," I said with a snort.

"Oh yes, he does. If he ever wants a chance to start over, he needs you."

When the meaning of his words dropped in, the shiver became a full-grown shudder. It wasn't a shudder of fear.

Of course he did. He owed me his life and his sanity – me and Farkas – and of course it wasn't enough. He wanted back what he once had and was, esteemed Master-of-Arms of the Companions and designated successor of Kodlak. I could give it to him – or deny it. The thought made me giddy with amusement, revulsion and a rush of power.

And I had no idea how to deal with this – with this ridiculous demand he dared to make, even if it was only to his brother, and with the responsibility that came with it.

"Give me a single reason why I should help him to get back on his feet," I said curtly.

Farkas didn't answer.

"You can tell him that for all I care he can throw himself into Red Mountain."

"Perhaps you should tell him yourself."

"Yeah, perhaps I should." I had a lot of ideas what Vilkas could do to himself, and the thought to spit them into his face was tempting. I gave him a crooked grin. "If I really did that... would you like to be there?"

The corners of his lips quirked up. "Not sure if I'd like it. But the last time I let you run off alone to see him, you ended up with the curse of a Daedra. Of course I'd be there."

* * *

"Whiterun."

"No. Markarth."

The carriage driver at the Windhelm stables looked confused from Farkas to me and back. And Farkas looked confused at me.

"Where to, now?" the man asked finally. "First Whiterun, then Markarth?"

Suddenly I wanted nothing more than to return to Jorrvaskr, lock myself in the empty rooms of Breezehome or hide in Dragonsreach's dungeon.

My lips were pressed into a firm line. "Markarth, directly. We're gonna get off in Karthwasten, though."

"Fine with me, as long as you pay the full fee," the man muttered and beckoned us impatiently to get onto the benches. At least it was gonna be a long journey. A long journey to think things over.

I would never understand how someone like Farkas, someone so straightforward and uncomplicated could make me think so much. Especially about things I didn't want to deal with.

We didn't argue very often, but when we did, it was exhausting and arduous. And sometimes all hell broke lose. It was hard to fight with Farkas. I was tempted to start an argument much more often than he, simply because talking about something helped me to clear my mind, but he hated it. And so he usually backed off, laughed at me when I lost my temper and made more than clear that he didn't think it worth the effort. He gave me the feeling I had won, if there was something like winning at all, just to keep the peace.

But there were still these big questions he thought worthy to have an opinion on. And if such an opinion had once settled itself in his head, it was thought through, based on his gut and his mind and stood firm like the Throat of the World, unwavering and solid. Once he was certain of something, he wouldn't back off a single inch. He'd listen to me, he'd try to understand, but he wouldn't give in. He'd quietly agree to disagree, and no shouting and cursing from my side would change his mind.

The problem was, time had proven more than once that he was right. And with his unfaltering certainty, he made me think. Hard. Painful. He saw me struggle, he argued with me in his calm, confident manner, but he didn't fight my battles for me. And he never backed off when something was important to him, never let me win in these cases.

Vilkas was one of these questions, and again he had won. The matter was set for Farkas after our argument on the road, and he didn't press it any further during our way to Windhelm. But as always, the way he had explained himself, how he opened his mind to me and revealed the conflict in him without any fear got me thinking. Hard and painful. And he left me alone with my thoughts, knowing I'd come to him when I needed to talk.

And in the evening, when we sat warm and full at the fire of Candlehearth, when we were a bit tipsy from hot cider and I asked him again to tell me about the weeks he spent with Vilkas, he looked at me from wide, astonished eyes, but at least he didn't refuse again.

"I don't know what to tell you. I don't wanna fight with you again."

"I won't fight. I promise."

He took a swig from his tankard. "I guess you don't wanna hear how we killed a spider for Calcelmo? A monster. There's a whole Dwemer city beneath Markarth."

"No. Though I'm proud of you." I was quiet for a moment. "I wanna know why you trust him."

"Why, Qhouri? You don't. You have no reason to. Nothing I can say will change that."

No, I didn't. But I trusted him. Him and his judgement.

I gave him a feeble grin. "Perhaps I'm just curious."

His lips twitched, but he nodded and relaxed into his chair, legs stretched out and his hands folded behind his head as he gathered his thoughts. "I trust him because he's my little brother," he said finally, tilting his head to look at me. "We don't know who of us was born first, you know? It was probably only a few minutes difference anyway, but back then... before you came, Vilkas was always seen as the elder. He's the smarter one, and he has so many talents... people always came to him for advice and for help. Everybody thought he would become the next Harbinger."

I wanted to object, but he shook his head slightly not to interrupt him. "That's how others have seen him. But for me... he was my big brother, but he was always brother first and big second. He always believed in me, challenged me to keep up with him and he taught me so much..." He shook his head, a wistful smile on his face. "But he needed me as well. To let off steam, to keep his head together, to relax. To make things right with people he pissed off. It's always been the two of us, and we've always looked out for each other."

"But you still do, don't you?"

"No. At the moment, he needs me much more than I need him." A tinge of sadness lingered in his voice. "With you, he lost control... and then he lost himself. And with the ring and Hircine... it happened what he always feared most. He learned how it is to be at someone's mercy. To be powerless. And it has changed him. After Rorikstead, he asked me for help to go on, something he's never done before. He asked me for advice what to do. He wanted to know about you and how we live together. And somehow, we've changed roles. He's my little brother now, and he has accepted this change. For the first time in his life, he has accepted to rely on someone else."

"And what does he want now?"

"What he always wants. The impossible. Turn back time and start over." He rubbed his palm over his face. "Of course he knows that's not possible. But it's still what he wants."

"He's a mess."

"Yeah, that he is. But..." His gaze flitted over my face. He bit his lip anxiously.

"Yes?" I said softly.

"He's my little brother, Qhouri. I cannot forgive him what he did to you, and we both know that nothing can make up for it. But sometimes... he doesn't deserve it, but sometimes I wish Vilkas would meet someone like you. Someone who could be to him what you're to me and just make him happy once. And who'd give him another chance."

It became quiet between us, and when I propped my elbows on my knees and stared into the embers, his hand came up and cradled my neck, warm and soothing. Everything he had told me now was only about Vilkas. He made no demand, and it didn't concern me, not directly. But there was still that one question left that I had always shied away from, because it was about me.

To ask for the reasons would mean that I tried to understand him. It would mean to acknowledge that there could be reasons that were worth understanding.

Perhaps it was time to stop being a coward.

I leant into his touch. "Why did he do it, Farkas?" My voice was weak.

His breath hitched, but Farkas never shied away from difficult questions. "Many reasons, and I'm not sure I get them all. Sometimes I think he doesn't know himself." His smile was sad and tender. "For a start, he didn't get why Kodlak wanted you to stay... you were only a whore, after all. And then you saved me and became not only a whelp, but part of the pack and Dragonborn. You brought so much change... suddenly we had a reputation as dragon slayers. And with all our travels and when you fixed the mess in Morthal and I spent more time there... he had no part in it, and he felt left out."

"But I didn't fix anything! You fixed it! How could he begrudge you that you were happy with your daughters?"

"It wouldn't have happened if you hadn't been there. And he... he always said they were an accident and that Jonna's demands were unjust and that they'd just tie me down. And in a way, he was right. He didn't believe we could make it work, and I didn't either." He gave me a crooked grin. "I usually believed what he told me. Until you came and I fell in love with you. I didn't want to, but it happened and he didn't get that either. You know that he got my fist when he told me just to fuck you and get over with it?" And amused smile curled his lips.

"You hit him? And you think that's funny?"

"But it is – in hindsight. We never fought over a woman before. We'd rather share than fight. And now I had to beat some sense into his stupid head for a woman we both didn't want to bed."

I buried my face in my palms. "Gods. And I was so oblivious."

He became serious again. "He was an ass and he earned it. But he felt betrayed. By me, by Kodlak and the pack, by his own beast and by you." His fingers played with the leather band and the golden chain around my neck. One gift from him, the other from his brother. "I don't know what pushed him so far, Qhouri. It was so many little things no one took really seriously. I didn't either. But for him, it became one big thing. Perhaps he thought he has to break you before it broke himself." He shrugged. "Perhaps this is something you have to ask him yourself."

"You think he would give me an answer? An honest answer?"

"I don't know. But if you really wanna know, you'll have to ask him."

And now we were on our way to Skyhaven Temple. I felt itchy and uneasy and ridiculous. I didn't have time for such a detour, told myself I'd send a courier to Jorrvaskr and meet with my shield-sibling – whoever was up to it – in Morthal in a few days.

It didn't mean that I was entirely sure why I sat on this carriage at all. The carriage to Helgen, the one to Solitude, and now this one. Carriages were the vehicles of doom. Farkas' incredulous bewilderment when we had left Windhelm in western direction had spoken for itself.

Of course, going to Blackreach with Vilkas was not an option. But I wanted to get these questions out of my head, wanted to confront him and stop to use Farkas as a pawn. Before I fought with my husband over him, I'd rather fight with him personally.

And I wanted to do so now that I had finally gathered the courage. Now when everything Farkas had said was still fresh. I wanted to trust him, wanted to trust his judgement about his brother. If I was honest, I had no idea if and how Vilkas had changed.

Did he _deserve_ another chance? No, certainly not. Did he deserve to be happy? Even less. Did he deserve that I went out of my way and made the first step to confront him? No. He didn't deserve anything, and least of all did he deserve anything from _me_. It wasn't my responsibility to get him back on his feet. Not after all I had already done. I didn't want to get involved with this man, not again, never again.

But what I wanted wasn't the same as what would happen. What was possible. I would have to get involved with Vilkas, sooner or later. Because I couldn't come to terms with him as long as I hadn't seen him, as long as I didn't figure out where we stood. And not as long as I lived with his brother and he bared his heart to me, innocent and honest.

And what if Farkas was right? If the events had changed Vilkas really as much as they had changed me? Would it help me to deal with him personally? Perhaps. Probably. Yes, it would, at least in the long run.

We sat opposite of each other while the wagon carried us towards the Reach, quiet for hours. The wooden wheels on the cobblestones rattled my bones through and through, and I felt a dull, throbbing headache approaching. When I looked up from my crouched position on the uncomfortable bench, Farkas stared into the distance, with his thoughts far away.

But he sensed my gaze and turned to me, a small smile curling his lips.

"Back?" he asked, leaning forward and placing a hand on my knee. I covered it with my fingers, reached out for him with the other hand.

"Kiss me? Please?"

A question stood in his eyes, but he lowered his lips to mine, touched them with tenderness and affection before he leant back again.

"You think this is a good idea?"

His gaze was calm and reassuring. "I don't know, honestly. You'll have to decide. I just hope you don't expect too much." A small chortle escaped him. "Vilkas is still an ass, you know. Still the same know-it-all with his arrogance and his sarcasm. Not that you believe we're gonna meet a tamed puppy. Old habits die hard. Or never."

"I'm not afraid of him any more," I said with a crooked grin and curled my fingers into his. "Don't worry. I'll deal with him."

"Oh, I'm sure you will," he chuckled, "and I'm not sure if I'm more afraid for you or for him."

Skyhaven's main hall was empty when we entered, lit only by a few torches centred on Alduin's Wall. Now I could easily ignore it. Not even Farkas' firm grip on my sweaty fingers could calm my somersaulting stomach.

We heard the clanking of metal against metal before we opened the exit to the training ground outside, and I steeled myself when Farkas gave me a light smile over his shoulder right before he pushed the large door open. They didn't notice us at first, and we stood for a few moments, let our eyes adjust to the bright sunlight again and watched the spar.

During the fights we had gotten through together, Delphine had always impressed me with her lightfooted movements and her skill with the sword. Despite her age she danced around Vilkas with astonishing ease, and the man wearing the typical heavy Blades armour wielded his sword with the familiar, precise finesse. But what really surprised me wasn't that and how they sparred. It was that they had obviously a lot of fun.

I knew Delphine as a stern, serious woman who didn't give herself much opportunity to let her dry sense of humour break through, her head always on the task before her – and before others. Nothing stood between her and her duty, and she had pushed me along the path to Alduin with unrelenting determination and discipline. Faltering, hesitating, backing off – these were options that didn't exist.

And now I saw her, circling her opponent, trying to lure him out of his cover with elegant feigned and real attacks, grinning and sweating and throwing friendly, teasing insults at him that proved how familiar they were with each other. And I saw Vilkas repay her in the same fashion.

They had fun. I was speechless.

Farkas looked at me with an arched eyebrow and a shrug, but he couldn't suppress a grin of his own when he cleared his throat audibly and two heads spun around. He drew his weapon and entered the yard.

"You look tired, brother, let me take over. Do you mind, Delphine?"

Farkas literally vanished from my eyesight when my vision narrowed on the man suddenly standing alone at the edge of the training ground. He stood stiff and tense, his fist clenching in an unconscious struggle around the hilt of the long, slim, slightly curved blade that looked a lot like Dragonbane, only double its size. His shoulders were bunched up and his eyes riveted unbelievingly on his brother, before he turned to me. He stared at me with the same intensity with which I was fixed on him and I felt how he tried to shut down, to back away and protect himself, frustration and anxiety flowing from him in violent waves. But I locked him with my presence and my unyielding glare, and he was frozen, we were both frozen in this place and in this moment. I would not let him get away. Now, it were just the two of us. Again.

He felt my grip on him, my wolf reaching out for her pack-brother and my senses searching for his reactions. I had learned to tone them down, not to let the impressions others forced on me overwhelm me, but now I opened my mind to everything Vilkas sent out, bonded with my wolf to make use of her powers and her instincts. And he knew what I did, he was straitened and trapped, and in helpless defence he tried to bar his mind, to close himself away from my scrutiny.

But I looked through him, and again I felt that rush of power. So much was struggling in him, a barrage of emotions. Anger, frustration, fear and distrust. Curiosity. Pride. The urge to escape. And below all this – a lingering base of regret, relief and compliance.

You can't hide from me, brother. I know you. And you will know me.

I set one foot before the other, my own pulse pounding in my ears, made my way in slow steps around the place. Around me, everything seemed to be quiet, deadly quiet. Nothing counted but that man I had in my grip and whom I approached now until I stood before him, invading his personal space just like his mind.

He fought, but he didn't break away. He couldn't, not against my will, not against my strength. A strength I didn't know I had and even less where it came from. I forced him to endure my examination, and then I forced him to acknowledge me. My wolf reached out for him and I let her, and his gaze on my face became probing when he took me in. He searched and I let him find, showed him my own frustration, anger and fears, built up and altered over and over again. My own hate and distrust, nervousness and vulnerability.

I had the strength to let him in. I had the strength to show him that I didn't have to hide any more. That he couldn't hurt me any more.

I proved myself, to him and most importantly to myself.

The tension broke when he stumbled away with a suppressed gasp, craving for release with a pleading glance. He turned on his heels and vanished into the building, and when he was gone I felt as if a weight was lifted from me, as if breathing was easier suddenly. The noises were back, and I seated myself on a boulder at the edge of the cliff, the stone warm beneath my crossed legs, and turned my attention back to the fight.

Dust hung densely over the small, unpaved place, the air dry and still. Nothing was audible but the fighters' erratic steps, the clashing of metal, heavy breathing and the occasional panted curse from Farkas. Delphine was giving him a hard time, attacking him mainly from his blind left side and forcing him to use his shield much more proactively than he was used to. And more often than not he wasn't fast enough or miscalculated her motions, and she hit him with fast, shallow strikes. His annoyed grunts made her grin, but they were both equally relentless, and it didn't look as if they wanted to stop any time soon.

I wasn't surprised that Vilkas returned. He had changed into simple clothes and washed away the warpaint, and the change made him look younger than I remembered him. He approached me cautiously, a blank expression on his face, but he handed me a bottle of ale, careful not to brush my fingers.

He settled down on the ground, leant against the boulder I sat on, and we watched the spar like we had done it a hundred times in Jorrvaskr.

His chin pointed at Farkas. "What happened?" His voice was rough.

Of course his first question would be the one after his brother.

"Chaurus acid."

"I see."

It was a bland, tense, awkward meal we shared in the evening, with the Blades and Vilkas on one side of the long table in the main hall and Farkas and me opposite of them. The conversation didn't want to get going, none of us knowing what to talk about. Too much was going on that wasn't their business.

Only Esbern was completely oblivious to the nearly palpable tension in the air, but his probing questions about Alduin, his impatience and his way to remind me that the fate of the world lay in my hands only set me more on edge. And I felt watched, Delphine's boring gaze not oblivious at all. She knew something was wrong, and when she finally pushed her chair back and told Esbern that they had work to do, I sighed with relief.

"You have certainly much to talk about," she said with a strained, but friendly smile. "It's nice you came to say farewell. We will miss him, you know?" She padded Vilkas lightly on the shoulder and ushered Esbern out of the hall. Farkas turned stiffly to his brother, but he waited until the clapping of the door indicated that we were alone.

"What does she mean, farewell?" His voice was only a growl.

Vilkas leant back in his chair. "I'm preparing to leave. To Morrowind." His voice was flat, his face bare of any expression.

"To Morrowind?" Farkas propped his palms on the table as if he wanted to jump up, barely containing his agitation.

"Yes. I didn't know I have to ask you for permission."

"You would have just gone? Just... vanished? To _Morrowind?_ " Farkas narrowed his eyes in anger and confusion.

"And who would care if I did?" Vilkas let out a derisive snort. "You can join me, of course. If you think I need supervision. You're useless to the Dragonborn anyway."

He spoke only to Farkas, and the tension rushed from my body with the laughter that broke from my throat. Over the course of the evening, he hadn't acknowledged once that I was even present, and this situation now... it was so absurd and crazy, worse than anything I had anticipated for this encounter. Perhaps Farkas should really join him. And throw him into Red Mountain.

At least now I knew that this trip had been pointless and that Vilkas was still the same ass he had always been.

"Told you it was a stupid idea," I chuckled and stood up. "I’m tired. Let’s leave early tomorrow, okay? I gotta send a courier to Jorrvaskr."

"You still let her bully you into getting up with sunrise?" Farkas' head shot around, his gaze locking on Vilkas' face. There it was, the smug, pretentious sneer we knew so good. "Oh, of course. I forgot. You're a married man now."

I could heard Farkas' teeth grind as he stared his brother down, and the grin dripped away, slowly, as if he needed his brothers' fury to realise that he had messed up. I didn't dare to move, my hand lying on his shoulder.

"You know, Vilkas... she told me you're a coward." His voice was dangerously calm. "The woman you raped has a world to save, and still she came here because I had a stupid idea. But she was right, and I was wrong. You wouldn't notice a chance if it fucking bit you." He stood up, towering over his brother. And then he reached into his neck and broke the leather band with a single, angry snap. The amulet dropped onto the table, right in front of Vilkas. "Farewell, brother."

He covered my hand with his own, but his body trembled under my palm as he turned stiffly and went towards the stairs. Vilkas stared after him, motionless and silent.

Only when we had reached the top, we heard him again. The question came so quiet that everyone else would have missed it.

"Which idea?"

Farkas froze, his hand already on the handle of the door to our room. But I turned around and looked down to him. He looked small as he sat there, alone at the huge table in the huge, gloomy hall, his hands clenched around his tankard. The flickering light of the torches made his expression unreadable. "To ask you to be my shield-brother in Blackreach," I said calmly. Not even the dim light could conceal the shock on his face.


	5. Impact

Farkas looked as if he wanted to scream as he kicked the door shut, frustration and fury struggling in his expression. I sat down at the edge of the bed and started to unbuckle my armour.

He spun around. "Why, Qhouri? Why can't he just... stop being an ass?"

The question was so absurd, and at the same time he was heartbreakingly serious. Vilkas could stop being an ass just as little as the sun could stop to rise in the morning. But it broke my heart to see him like this. His armour was a messy pile on the floor when he crawled beside me and curled into my arms.

He buried his face against my shoulder. "I don't wanna lose him, Qhouri," he muttered. "Have I lost him?"

Perhaps he had lost him long ago and just refused to believe it. I shook my head sadly. "I don't know."

"I don't know what to do now."

I nudged my finger under his chin until I could look into his face. "I know you're used to fix the mess he leaves behind. But sometimes you can't do anything, love. You have given him so much... it's his turn now. If you mean anything to him, he will have to come to you now."

"And you?"

I was aware that this disaster had at least partly taken its course because I was here. It had taken ages to prepare myself for this visit – and for Vilkas, it had been a surprise. But even if I had been willing to make a step towards him, that he lashed out with so little self-restraint against his brother killed this sentiment once and for all.

"I will leave him alone. We'll go back to our last solution." I threaded my fingers through his hair. "Perhaps he'll come to his senses one day. Perhaps he really has to start over somewhere else... even if it's in Morrowind."

"I don't understand him, Qhouri. I thought I did... but I don't." He had believed in him, had believed there could be a solution and that his brother had learned something. That something could change for all of us.

If he did, he didn't show it, and none of us could force him. Not even Farkas.

He was exhausted and restless at the same time, barely falling into an unsettled slumber, startling up over and over again. Deep inside, he waited for Vilkas to come to him. To make things right before it was too late. His nervous turning and shifting kept me awake as well.

I tried to free myself carefully from his embrace when I sensed that it was shortly before sunrise, but his hand found mine before I could get up.

"Where are you going?" he mumbled.

"Just need some fresh air. And a bite to eat." I stroked a strand of unruly hair out of his face. "I'll wake you later, okay?"

A crease formed between his brows. "You should bully me to get up."

I gave him a soft smile. "I will. When I come back and you're still asleep."

He lay on his front and had cushioned his head on his arms, the pillow clenched between them. Now he propped himself on an elbow and rubbed his good eye with his fist. "Screw it," he muttered, "let's just leave, okay?"

"And give him that satisfaction?" We would not flee this place like thieves in the night. Each of us had at least as much right to be in Skyhaven as Vilkas. "Have you ever watched the sunrise from here?"

He gave me a feeble grin. "I don't do sunrises, Qhouri. Not if I don't have to."

"But you should. It's beautiful." I pecked him on the mouth. "Take your time. We're not in a hurry."

I snatched an apple on my way out, not especially hungry. Quite the opposite, a queasy feeling had settled in my stomach, probably due to exhaustion and the constant boiling anger. I could understand Farkas' frustration and sadness, but I had come here without any expectations and had difficulties to share them. I was only furious with Vilkas. He could ignore and insult me all he wanted, but to treat his brother like that...

It would be good to leave, and it would be good to know he was gone from Skyrim altogether. I didn't need any further distractions.

There was a small cove in the rocks lining the edge of the back yard, only a niche that opened towards the cliff, providing shelter against the wind and a breathtaking view over the River Karth and the landscape.

The Reach was dangerous, harsh and hostile, but it was also beautiful as it awoke now to the new day. The dark blue velvet of the sky only began to change into lighter shades, the first tendrils of the morning light crawling over the rugged horizon. It was a stunning spectacle as the peaks of the steep, bare mountains lit up as if they were set on fire while the valleys stayed in the darkness. Being alone with myself, I felt as if it were a drama performed only for me, as if colours and light unfolded their beauty solely for my eyes.

Farkas' loss that he didn't do sunrises. I smiled when I heard someone leave the building and didn't bother to get up. He would find me anyway.

But the steps stopped abruptly in the middle of the yard, and they had a wrong rhythm to them.

Yes, Vilkas was an early riser too.

The mood was broken in an instant, anger coiling in my stomach again. I tensed when he didn't come closer and didn't say a word, stayed out of my sight and still far too near. When he cleared his throat, I shot up and turned furiously to him.

"Gods, can't you leave me alone?"

His hands were clenched into whiteknuckled fists as he stood there, stiff and tense. A muscle twitched in his jaw.

"That spot was mine." His voice was flat, and he lowered his head, avoiding my glare.

"Yours?" I scowled, my brows furrowing. "Oh." Without a further word I turned to leave. If he insisted that this place was his, I would certainly not argue. Especially not if he sought to provoke me by this ridiculous claim. Somewhere in the endless hallways I'd hopefully find a place for myself, even if the view wasn't so stunning.

But his hand reached out when I passed him. "No."

He said something else, but it was lost as my mind went blank. I froze to the spot the moment his fingers closed around my upper arm, blinding panic surging in a crushing wave through my senses. He held me, his grip unrelenting. He dared to touch me. He dared to threaten me. It was _wrong_.

I broke free with a vicious jerk and stumbled backwards, away from him. The apple fell from my hand, and I stood stunned, motionless and watched it roll towards the edge of the cliff. It vanished soundless without a trace, as if it had never been there.

"Divines…" A choked voice broke the silence, and when I turned stiffly, unbelievingly, Vilkas was staring at me, open hands held in shoulder height in a stance of helpless apology.

I didn't want an _apology_. I wanted to make him scream to drown out the scream in my head.

The red haze blurring my sight was welcome, it numbed the chaos of thoughts in my head. The pain flaring from my knuckles through my arm into my brain when my fist collided with his jaw was welcome too, it proved that I was still alive. It numbed panic and disgust and the instinct to run.

I wanted more of this, and I hit him without a word or a sound, just my fists and my body speaking for me. They crushed into his jaw and temple, his stomach, waist and ribcage. His hands came up, his forearms protecting the face, but it was more an unconscious reflex than a deliberate reaction. I hit them as well and felt the bones of his fingers break under the impact. The dull sound of my fists on his body, the way his flesh sagged and his skin split under my strikes sent shivers of satisfaction through my spine. The heat blazing through my veins was neither the dragon nor the wolf. This was just me.

He didn't fight back. He didn't even defend himself. He stood like paralysed, swaying under the barrage of my strikes, and his blood had the same colour as my fury.

"Fight, coward," I growled between clenched teeth, but he didn't react. He just fell to his knees, arms still in front of his face, cowered, doubled up, head down with his hands in his neck. My fingers were slick with his blood. My boots produced a dull thud when I kicked his ribs, once, twice, and finally a wail broke from his throat. I broke off suddenly, blood dripping from his jaw. The next kick made him slump limply to the side where he stayed, bleeding, curled into a ball. No sound was audible but his ragged, laboured breathing and my own breathless sobs as I stood above him. He didn't move.

I stumbled away, but there was nowhere to run, tears blurring my sight and bile aching in my throat. I fell to my knees, crouched with my arms pressed into my stomach, retching, coughing and crying. So much pain, inside of me and everywhere. Nothing left but pain and guilt and hate and fury, and I had nothing to let it out on and nowhere left to hide it in.

I was alone, lying in the sand of the training ground of Skyhaven Temple, curled together into a lump of sorrow and pain. The sun just rose over the horizon in a fiery ball. I was alone with all the darkness I had buried for so long and that had broken free now. My own outbreak of unbridled violence against Vilkas had shattered me to the bones, left me raw and bare.

And then strong arms closed around me, Farkas knelt down and pulled me into his lap, a firm, gentle grip pressing my head against his shoulder.

"Cry, girl. Finally. Let it all out."

He stayed with me for what felt like hours, sheltered me from the world and made himself my very own place to hide in. And he let me cry until I dozed off from sheer exhaustion, just to start up again with new sobs. Until I was an empty shell with nothing left but soreness.

The next I knew was the soothing comfort of dark stone walls around me, a dimly lit room and Farkas' presence near. He sat on the edge of the bed, watching me, and he raised his hand and cupped my cheek when our eyes met.

His voice was gentle. "Hey. How do you feel?"

There was emptiness, but also a surprising lightness. A knot had dissolved, the loose strands tingling in my stomach. But then, with sudden impact, the memory of what had happened, of what I had done flashed back, and I cringed and hid my face, shying away from him into the corner.

"Don't do that," he said softly, "it's okay."

Nothing was okay. I didn't dare to look at him. "Vilkas," I whispered, "is he...?"

"He'll live. And he would be a lot better if he had allowed Esbern to heal him."

My eyes burnt with tears again. "I wanted to kill him, Farkas." Nothing justified this outbreak. I felt only revulsion with myself. How could he be so calm?

"Yeah. So what? You wanted to do that for months, and he got away with a good thrashing. I'd say he's lucky." He drove with his fingers through his hair. "I sent him out there to you, Qhouri. I thought..."

"You sent him? Why did you do that?"

"He came to me this morning. Wanted to talk, and I told him that he will have to speak with you first."

"But he didn't … !" That weird encounter replayed in my head. I had felt offended and threatened. But perhaps I had misunderstood him. Perhaps he didn't want to chase me away. Perhaps it hadn't been an assault, but an attempt to hold me back when I wanted to leave. Perhaps he just wanted to make _conversation_.

"What did he do, Qhouri? Why did you freak out like that?"

I rubbed the knuckles of my right hand. They were sore and bruised, and the blood under my fingernails made my stomach churn. "I thought he... that he wanted me to leave. And I was angry but didn't want to argue, and then he held me back." I grabbed his arm just like Vilkas had done it with mine. "But he just wanted to speak with me. And I nearly killed him. For nothing."

He took my hand and loosened my grip on his arm. "Yeah, because you felt threatened. No one can blame you. But at least you fought, Qhouri. You didn't let it happen and you didn't run away. I guess he didn't expect that."

"But I snapped, Farkas! That's not how I handle stuff. And everything was under control before. Everything was fine." I buried my face in the crook of my arm. "What if I had shouted at him? Or changed?" That it didn't happen was a miracle all in itself. I didn't know what I was doing. The memory of his blood slick between my fingers sent a shudder over my back.

He stood up and seated himself on a chair, his hands clasped behind his head. His face was serious.

"Nothing was ever fine with Vilkas, Qhouri. Not for you. Why are we here at all? You were so angry that you wanted to shout me into the sea when I made this stupid suggestion. And next day, you alone decided to take the carriage to Markarth. Why?"

I sat curled together, knees drawn to my chest. Three days ago in Windhelm, I thought it was a good idea. I didn't really want to come here, but I thought it made sense. It didn't, obviously.

"Because… I thought perhaps you're right. If you believe in him… I thought… perhaps it helps me too to meet him, if you think it's a good idea. And you wanted to come here." I met his gaze. "But we know already that I was wrong."

"And that's what your gut told you right from the start. Why don't you trust it once in a while? We're just here because you thought that I thought it's a good idea."

"But you know me, that's my way to deal with stuff! What you said about him made me think. If I just did what my gut tells me, I'd get nothing ever done!"

"But you never trust your feelings. You always think things through and listen to others and argue and justify everything, and you never just act on your feelings. You only do what's best for me, or for us or for the Companions. Or for the rest of the world."

He spat out the last word with so much disgust it made me smile, even if it was feeble.

"And then you joke about it. You wear yourself out and laugh about it."

"But if I think you're right, why not do what you say? It's not that you've given bad advice so far."

"Gods, Qhouri… there's no right or wrong when it comes to Vilkas. You told me how much you hate him, but that's just it. You only told me, and then you talked yourself into believing that's enough. You never allowed yourself to let it out, to let him feel what you feel or to do anything that would make you feel better. You only did so much to make me feel better!"

"Should I have killed him just because I felt like it? You know it doesn't work that way. I can't just do something and stop caring, for you or for others. That'd just make everything even worse!"

"But that's exactly what you did today… when you beat the shit out of him, that was just you. You didn't think of me or of the consequences, and it was long overdue that something like this happened. And don't try to tell me you didn't feel fabulous when you beat him to pulp. I know you did."

Perhaps he was right. No. It wasn't because he was right. It was simply true, it did feel fabulous to beat Vilkas up. To break his bones and make him bleed, to cause him pain and most of all to feel his fear. He had been scared of me. It felt fantastic, this simple revenge, something so plain and yet so powerful. Without the guilt, it left only contentment behind. It did me good, this payback. I should do things that did me good more often.

"It would've been much more fun if he'd fought back." He answered my twisted grin with a chuckle. "How do you understand me so good?"

His smile was faint, but he looked at me with so much warmth that it made my stomach flutter.

"Experience, love. I've spent my whole life with someone who is stubborn to a fault and who does nothing without thinking it through. Who makes his decisions once and for all and would never do something just because he feels like it… and who clings to what he thinks is right until it breaks him."

He came over and sat down beside me, taking in my speechless stare. His calloused fingers stroked my cheek.

"You and Vilkas... sometimes you're so much alike, it's scary. I don't wanna see you break, Qhouri. Don't be so hard to yourself."

* * *

I leant in the doorframe to Vilkas' room and looked curiously around. The small chamber looked nearly like his quarters in Jorrvaskr – with his own alchemy table, a desk full of cluttered papers and parchments, some well filled bookshelves, a weapon rack and an armour stand with his Blades armour. The man had turned to the side when he sensed me coming, his face to the wall. But he didn't have the decency to draw up the blanket, showing off the bandages around his hand, shoulder and ribcage. Silent proof, reminder and accusation.

I was here because I wanted to, not because I had to. Not because I felt obliged, neither to him nor to Farkas. He had tried to hold me back, said that it would be pointless and that we'd just clash again. And that I should let it go.

But I couldn't. My husband had once said that he hated his brother for what he had done, but that he couldn't _only_ hate him. I had come to this point as well.

I didn't know when exactly, but at some point Vilkas had stopped to be my nemesis. It wasn't only that I wasn't afraid of him any more, that I could cope with him and that he owed me. With every meeting, with every reaction from him and everything I got to know about him I learned something – about him as well as about me, no matter if I wanted or not.

He had become a person again. Something else than just a monster, hateful and loathed, and he had begun to evoke more than just the raw hate I had known for so long, a hate that left no room for anything else. Now, there was pity and curiosity, and sometimes, with Farkas' assistance, a glimpse of understanding.

And now I had done wrong by him, and I wouldn't run away from it like he had done it. We needed to start some kind of communication that was more than mental or physical violence. I wanted to make this step, and I could make it only because I knew that Farkas wouldn't let me down, no matter what happened. Vilkas didn't have this safety net. He never had, because he wasn't able to trust his brother the way I did.

This visit was something I had to do for my own peace of mind, even if I came here with little expectations. The whole situation was so messed up, nothing I could try would ease it. But at least it couldn't become any worse. We had already arrived at rock bottom.

I entered the room properly and took the chair behind his desk. Not that he started to think this was just a casual visit of his sickbed.

"I heard you wanted to speak with me," I said calmly.

No reaction. Vilkas refused to turn around. It had to hurt to lie on the side for so long with a broken rib, but he'd rather suffer silently than to acknowledge my presence.

I let the silence build, knowing exactly that he was just waiting for me to lose my patience and leave. He was pathetic. I placed the dirty, dusty heels of my boots on top of his desk and folded my hands behind my head. He would hate it.

"You know, Vilkas... I had thought about making you an offer. A one-time-offer to try..."

He spun around and interrupted me with a derisive snarl. His face was a battered landscape of bruises, bloodshot lumps and cuts, one eye swollen shut, the other flaring with anger. "What? Continue where we left off? Behave like adults? Become _friends_?" Disgust and contempt dripped from his voice.

I shrugged. I came here with no expectations, and so I wasn't really taken aback by his rude answer. "No. I don't know either. Like… I was willing to start something new. To give you a chance you don't deserve. But it won't work anyway."

"You've always been naïve."

"As if you knew me good enough to judge." I stood up and went to the door. Farkas had been right again, this was utterly pointless. But I turned once more, locked his glare into mine. "I'm sorry for today, Vilkas. It's usually not my way to beat people up without reason, and... it shouldn't have happened."

I heard him suck in the air with a surprised hiss as I left the room.

Farkas more lay than sat on the stairs to the training yard, propped on his elbows and a bottle of ale beside him, and watched Delphine's archery training. I knew he could do that for hours and be happy. I ignored her suspicious look and hunched down beside him.

"What did you tell her?" I asked lowly.

Farkas shrugged. "Nothing. That it's not her business and that she should ask Vilkas." That would be a conversation where I'd like to be a fly on the wall. He eyed me curiously. "How did it go?"

"You were right. He's a spoiled brat." I pressed a kiss on his cheek. "I go out. Gotta kill something. And tomorrow we're definitely off."

The ragged terrain surrounding Skyhaven was perfect for a hunting trip. It provided excellent cover, and one never knew what to expect behind the next hill – a couple of sabrecats bathing in the sun, a Forsworn camp, goats climbing over chasms nothing on invisible, unreachable paths or just a breathtaking view.

To be alone out here, without backup and all on my own was my way to relax and to clear my mind. It challenged me and every bit of my skill, required full attention of body and mind. Not possible to chase a rabbit, save the world and deal with stupid relatives at the same time – and now, the rabbit had priority over everything else.

I worked myself out, crawled through the gorges and over the craggy peaks around the Temple that sloped steeply down to the river and gathered a scratched collection of small game – some rabbits, a pheasant, a few keats I knew Esbern would love and even a fox, more for the pretty pelt than his meat.

The rushing noise of a small waterfall at the bottom of the former Karthspire camp the Blades and I had so thoroughly erased lured me to a secluded little pond. I was flushed, sweaty and gritty, dust had crawled through the seams of my armour and chafed my skin. A shower would be perfect.

I stood under the gushing waters, groaning with contentment as the icy spray rinsed away the layers of dirt when I heard the yelling. Angry, hostile yelling in a language I didn't understand. A shattered Forsworn patrol had tracked me down and attacked on sight.

No way I'd get into my armour in time, but at least I had the foresight to place sword and shield on a rock within reach. I dived out of the water and waited for them at the edge of the pond. My warcry easily matched theirs.

Three warriors to take on alone were exactly the challenge I needed to bring this day to a lucky end. A woman wielding two swords that looked as if they were carved out of a monstrous spine charged ahead with a furious scream and tried with fast strikes to get behind my cover. Another fighter aimed his bone axe at my neck, and the third came after me with two daggers.

I had to fight for my life, and everything else became insignificant. An injured husband? He would heal. An insane in-law? Not much more than a nuisance. A world-eating dragon? Irrelevant. Nothing of all this was worth bothering when their weapons slashed at me. Their life or mine, that was all that mattered. I felt my wolf stir, but kept her on a tight leash. This was my job.

If they had hoped I was defenceless just because I was naked, they were wrong. The missing weight was an advantage in dodging their frantic attacks, and my shield still provided more protection than the weird assortment of furry rags they wore. The woman reached me first and slashed at me with a flurry of movements. I backed away along the waterline and bent backwards, her blades scissoring harmless in front of my chest. She was swift and agile and gave me no break, but her fighting style relied on fast attacks only, and she took neither in account that Dragonbane had the longer reach nor that my shield was a weapon as well.

She died with red hot blood bubbling out of her mouth and silencing her scream.

The other two came both at once. While my shield protected me from Twin-dagger's fast attacks and Dragonbane tried to find a way around it and into his flesh, the axe of the third nearly connected with my neck. Holy Daedra, that guy was fast. And fierce. And crazy. When he didn't bare his teeth and snarl obscenities, he babbled unintelligible syllables of which I was quite sure that they didn't form coherent words, let alone thoughts. But he was fast and strong, and unsettling unpredictable.

When his companion finally fell from my blade, the gaze of the last one followed the plunge of the body into the water with clear insanity in his eyes, drivel dripping from his chin. An earshattering yell followed, and he darted towards me, his crude axe held in both hands high over his head like a twohanded weapon, ready to split my skull. I caught it with my shield and wrenched it from his grip as the blade got caught between the talons. His expression when Dragonbane slashed his throat was one of utter confusion. No wonder the Forsworn were also called the Madmen of the Reach.

I had suffered a nasty gash through the muscle of my right thigh, but my laughter echoed loud through the little valley when I had washed the blood from my skin and donned one of their headdresses – an odd thing made of antlers and fur, the face framed by the fangs of sabrecats. It reeked of sour sweat and rotting leather, but I wore it as my trophy.

It was long dark when I returned to the temple, but inside it didn't matter, the huge hall always alight in the same, gloaming twilight. Only Alduin's Wall was brightly lit by a line of torches over the relief, and the impressive carvings greeted me with their familiarity. The huge dragon scooping down on the tiny mortals seemed to follow me with his eyes as I paced out the chapters of the story.

"See that, Worldeater?" I grabbed the antlers on top of my head, stuck out my tongue and let out a giggling sneer from behind the fangs. "See who will come for you, you bloody worm? I'm gonna feed you your balls, I swear!" I poked the stonen snout that just released a fire blast on the men below it. "I really hope you have balls I can feed you. And if not, better grow some! You don't wanna disappoint me, do you?"

A dark chuckle interrupted my onesided dialogue with the dragon, making me jump back with a yelp.

"Are you drunk, Dragonborn?" Vilkas sat on a stone bench in a dark corner at the far end of the hall, his words slightly slurred. He wasn't completely drunk, but he wasn't sober either. Of course I didn't smell him earlier with that reeking helmet, but that he was able to startle me like that made me angry with myself anyway.

I pulled the thing with a nervous motion off my head. This was the second time that day I thought I was alone and felt good and he destroyed the mood. And he still didn't know better. "No, I'm not. And you stop being so... bloody exhausting!" Fast steps carried me towards the stairs to the quarters until his low voice let me stop dead.

"Qhourian?" He waited until I had turned, holding up a nearly empty bottle of Colovian Brandy. "Drink with me?"

His face didn't look any better than a few hours before. But now it showed a plea that seemed entirely strange on these features that were usually frozen in a scornful scowl.

I hesitated. "I prefer to drink with people I like," I said coldly.

He drew back the outstretched arm and instead emptied the bottle with one long gulp.

"No," he muttered, "you've no reason …" His eyes were fixed on my face. "Please. At least listen. Just a few minutes. You'll be gone again tomorrow."

"Why should I let you throw more insults at me?"

His gaze was hazy, flitting from my face to Alduin and back. "Please," he pressed out.

I seated myself reluctantly at the table, far enough away to be out of his direct vicinity, and nodded slowly.

His brows furrowed from the effort to bring himself to speak, his hands clutching the empty bottle nervously. A muscle in his jaw flexed. "What you said today... you beat me to it. I should have said it. I wanted to... but I don't know how."

"I know you wanted, Vilkas," I said calmly. "And I know you feel bad. You wanted, but you didn't. You never did, neither to me nor to your brother."

He swallowed heavily. "Would it make a difference? If I apologised? If I thanked you for everything you've done?"

No, it wouldn't. It wouldn't change that he was a pitiable, arrogant, pathetic ass and that he would always be more sorry for himself than for anyone else. And that his gratitude was utterly worthless, because nothing I had done was for him.

I wanted to tell him that I wished him to Oblivion or into the depths of Red Mountain, that I had found out that revenge was something I could get used to and that he had pushed it too far.

I had the power to kick him even further into this abyss of self-loathing and distrust that he had digged for himself, but it only meant more responsibility. I didn't want it, and I did not say what went through my mind. I couldn't. I knew too much about him.

I propped my chin into my palm. "Has Farkas straightened you out that you're so tame suddenly?"

He blanched, visible even in the flickering light. "He doesn't know that I've waited for you."

"That's no answer to my question. Has he?"

He gritted his teeth. "No. He just refused to speak with me tonight." At least he was honest.

"So he has."

"I've nothing to lose, Qhourian. You'll be gone in a few hours anyway. It can't get any worse, can it?"

The silence around us was like a cocoon. Not a sound was audible, the world outside of this hall and every other soul blocked off by the thick walls of the temple. In this moment, there was nothing and nobody else but the two of us, fallen back on each other.

"You declined, Vilkas. I meant it when I said I want to start something new. Or try to, at least. But you declined." I sighed. "Honestly, I don't care for your reasons. You've cost me too much already… I need my strength for more important things than your conscience."

He shrank under my words, and when I took him in, how he sat there in the dim light, eyes, expression, his whole posture so anxiously fixed on my reaction… something had left him. His nervous alertness, this constant readiness to lash out, to defend himself had drained from his body. He was only tired, helpless and hopeless. And even if he couldn't say it… he felt the guilt, the grief and the remorse. I knew it was there.

He lowered his head, his gaze directed to the floor. "You think I'm a coward, and perhaps you're right. I was a coward today when you came and made that offer." Now he stared at me with wide open eyes. "Gods, you came to me, and I…" His voice trailed off, and I felt the self-loathing rolling off him in waves.

He made me sick with his self-pity and the disguised expectations that were wrapped up in it. The demand to help him, to give him a chance.

"You really think I'm interested in a half-baked apology? Seriously? I don't care how bad you feel. If you've nothing to lose… why don't you just say what you want? Don't try to force me to make you an offer by calling upon my pity. That's pathetic."

He was hurt. Good. But he also straightened himself, with clenched teeth and his body tense like a drawn bow, full of desperate determination.

"Your pity!" It was spewed with a bitter smile. "No." He leant forward, his icy gaze piercing. "But you're right, I want an offer from you. I want a chance to prove myself. I want to be your shield-brother in Blackreach."

Wow, that was straightforward. My laughter was mirthless. "So, you've changed your mind? Again? Give me a single reason why I should even consider it. Only one. After everything that has happened today."

The hint of a grin appeared on his face. "I'm the best for that kind of job, and you'll need the best." But then he averted his eyes from my gaze, fixed them instead on the wall behind me as if he wanted to memorise it.

I rubbed my temples with the tips of my thumbs. "No, I don't need the best, I can take care of myself. I need someone I can trust. A shield-brother, not a hireling. And I don't trust you."

His voice was shallow. "I was a Companion too. I know what you need down there. And I will protect you with my life."

This man drove me crazy. He sent out so many different, conflicting signals that I had no idea what to take seriously and what not. My wit had betrayed me as often as my instinct when it came to Vilkas, and how often had I already been tempted to write him off, to close this chapter once and for all? And still… I had saved him from Hircine. I had taken his gift. I came for him to Skyhaven Temple, and now I sat here and _argued_.

My fingers drove through my hair. "For Kyne's sake, why, Vilkas? Why now? I already know that I'll regret that I even speak with you. But everything would be so much easier if you weren't so damned difficult."

"You're spoiled by my brother." There was no malice in his words.

"Smartass. You could learn a lot from him."

"I know." It became quiet between us as I watched him curiously. It worked in him, a deep frown creasing his forehead. The knuckles of his fists were white when his head jerked up and he met my gaze. "I need your help, Qhourian. I know I can't fix what I destroyed. But I want to start over, rebuild whatever possible and go on. I want a home again." He took a deep breath. "That's what I want. I don't know if I'm gonna get it, but I have to start somewhere. I have to start with you, and I need your help."

Expectations and demands. I looked at him for long minutes, but he didn't back off, endured my inquiring stare with an expression of determination that was frighteningly similar to Farkas'. With this confession he had given himself into my hands. There it was again, the responsibility I didn't want. The power over him. That he acknowledged the fact, that he openly asked for my help made it even worse, because it was so utterly out of character for him.

Or perhaps, it was exactly what he aimed for. Because he knew about my feelings, that I didn't want this burden to be responsible for him. Perhaps he enjoyed to bring me into this predicament, even if it cost him his own dignity. This kind of honesty... it could hurt as much as betrayal.

I fought with myself, my thoughts clouded with doubts. Could I afford to take the risk? Farkas was convinced his brother would do a good job. My instinct told me otherwise – he was too skittish, too incalculable. With Athis I'd be on the safe side, and I would have fun. With Vilkas… this was gonna be a long, exhausting, difficult, dangerous trip. Even if everything else went fine, we romped through Falmer, chaurus and Dwemer machines and found the scroll without further problems, we'd probably split our skulls rather sooner than later. What if he snapped again? What if _I_ snapped?

But I had stopped to ask those _What ifs_ long ago.

I pinched the back of my nose, tired and uncertain. We could argue all night, and it would take us nowhere. It would do nothing to resolve my doubts. "Blackreach is a job, Vilkas, not a trip to spend some quality time. When I go down there, nothing counts but the blasted Scroll I have to find. I can't afford to tend to your conscience. Or other sensitivities."

He nodded. "I know that."

I knew beforehand that this wouldn't work, that we couldn't just leave everything behind and start over with a blank page. He knew it as well, but perhaps he would at least try.

I took a deep breath. "We will leave tomorrow. Early. You can join us till Morthal. If it works, we'll take it from there."

When I stood up and turned towards the stairs, exhausted to the bones, a rare, tentative smile formed on his face. A smile that vanished at once when I couldn't resist a last remark. "And you should see Esbern, or you won't be able to keep up."

"Mmmh, you've bathed," Farkas mumbled and buried his nose in my neck when I crawled beside him, shivering with fatigue. "And you're cold!" He drew me into his warmth. "Why are you so cold? I thought you were just out hunting?"

I snuggled against him. "Yeah… I'm just exhausted. Had to kill some obnoxious Forsworn. And then I came back and your obnoxious brother caught me. That guy really wears me out."

"What did he do?" The question came as a low growl.

"At first he wanted to drink with me. And then he tried to argue me into taking him to Blackreach."

"You're not serious."

I shrugged. "I can't believe it either. Must be the family charm." I gave him a lazy smile. "He will join us tomorrow. Till Morthal. And you're not gonna let me alone with him."

"I can't believe it." It was quiet for a moment. "Family charm, hm? And yet you need me to protect you?" he teased.

"Yeah," I grinned, "because Vilkas has threatened to protect me with his life." I rolled to my back and stared at the ceiling. "He said he needs my help, Farkas. From Vilkas… that's scary. I'm not sure if I'm ready for that."

He lay on his side, his head propped into his palm. "I know how you feel. Vilkas has a way to make demands even when he apologises. What does your gut say?" His index trailed circles around my navel. It tickled. And it was distracting. I knew that he knew exactly how distracting it was when a wolfish grin appeared on his face.

"It's as confused as the rest of me." I forced myself to lie still, not to twitch under his touch.

"One moment I wanna slap him." He nodded with faux graveness.

"Then I wanna cuddle him." The tickling stopped abruptly, and the corners of my mouth twitched as my self-restraint failed.

"You want _what?_ "

I looked innocently up into his face. "Cuddle him. And then I just wanna leave and forget that he exists at all."

His grin grew even broader when I started to giggle. His lips hovered over mine. "Fabulous idea." No chance to push his hands away if he liked where they were. Instead he just locked my wrists above my head. "You know…" he chuckled when I tried in vain to squirm away, "that's a family trait too. Being exhausting."

I bit my cheek to suppress my laughter and felt his amusement rumble through his chest, a deep noise somewhere between a growl and a purr. "You're not interested at all in my troubles!"

"No," he laughed and nibbled at my neck for emphasis, "I'm concerned about something else."

"And what?"

His gaze held mine with so much desire that it made my stomach flutter and let go of my hands. I slung my arms around his neck and pulled him closer until he had buried me completely beneath him.

"No quality time for us with him around," he whispered into my ear.

"Shall I tell him that I withdraw my offer?"

"No. We will work it out. We always do." And then he kissed me like only he could kiss me, tender and patient, fierce and demanding, devoured my mouth as if it was his last meal and nothing was left but his taste, his breath on my face and the feeling of his lips on mine.


	6. Talsgar's Tale

Our parting from Skyhaven was awkward and curt. Esbern didn't even show up, and Delphine only clasped my wrist and wished me luck. I hadn't told her in detail what the next stages of my hunt after Alduin were, and she felt obviously left out. She didn't like it either that she didn't know what was going on between the twins and me, and least did she like that Vilkas left with us although I had beaten him to clump the day before.

We watched them say goodbye from a distance out of hearing range, and still it was weird to see the obvious affection they shared. Vilkas and Delphine - both were the last people I would have expected to like someone else and show it. But perhaps that was exactly the reason why she searched his face with so much concern and he let her pull him into a hug.

But he didn't look back when the doors swang shut behind us, and somehow I was glad that we were finally on our own.

None of us even suggested to take the carriage. The way to Morthal would take us at least three days to walk, but we needed this time. The routine of travelling together with all the little duties that came with it would force us to work together, help us to get used to each other – and let us find out if this could work.

We soon fell into a steady pace that ate away the distance and could easily be kept up from dawn till dusk. But after the first miles in awkward silence I left the men alone, scouted ahead or trailed behind them to give them opportunity to speak. If anyone was able to break the ice it was Farkas, and it was important that the brothers got along. More than anything I valued his judgement, and if he didn't trust his brother, this whole endeavour was doomed right from the start.

I didn't have to hear what they talked about to see how close they were. Even as they were quiet at first, their strides adjusted and matched. And then there were tentative words that rose into shouts and scattered away again, quiet mumbling and heated arguments. The wind blew away the meaning, but I watched them closely. Their shoulders seemed to form one long line when dark heads leant into each other, their gestures strikingly similar, even if Farkas' were wide and open where Vilkas' were sharp and precise. And when I heard Farkas' laughter roar up and his palm crushed flat into Vilkas' back, I felt relief surge up.

I joined them again after a few hours for a short first rest, bringing two marmots to roast. Farkas came to meet me and took them from my hands. "You okay?" I asked lowly.

His smile flared up. "Yeah." His head dipped down, and he kissed me softly. "I love you, you know?"

He wasn't willing to allow me to take myself out of their company for longer.

"Just told Vilkas of our wedding," he chuckled as we sat around a small fire, and to my great astonishment it was clearly amusement that quirked the corners of his brother's mouth, "and now you've got to tell how you met that Brynjolf fellow for the first time."

"Did Esbern never tell you the story how he got out of the Ratway in Riften?" I turned to Vilkas.

"Oh yes, he did. He complained about the inexcusable things the Dragonborn did to him. The worst was the dog, he said. I guess he meant Snowback?"

I was surprised that he even knew his name. "Yeah. He was with me all the time back then." My faithful companion, I hoped Ria took good care of him. We all knew that he had been the only one and why I was so dependent on him, and for a moment the silence became laden. I forced my thoughts back to Brynjolf.

"I'd really like to know how Delphine got to know him, but she pointed me to Brynjolf as my contact to Esbern. Didn't tell me who and what he was, though, and before he would help me, he forced me to crawl through the sewers and find him in the Ragged Flagon. Gods, it was horrible. I wanted to kill him." I shook myself.

"Just good that you didn't," Farkas laughed, "or we'd have had a real problem. But I liked that guy."

"You like everybody, brother. Even thieves," Vilkas teased.

"Yeah, so what?" There was an edge in Farkas' voice that Vilkas obviously wasn't used to. "I'm not that bad at estimating people. And a mead on your tab takes you further than a blade to the throat." He grinned at him over my head. "We could visit them together. A nice little tavern they have down there."

"Pshaw," Vilkas retorted, "crawl through Riften's waste for a lousy drink? Certainly not."

"You don't have to. They have a back door in the graveyard."

Vilkas' head jerked up. " _You_ know the secret entrance to the Thieves guild headquarter?"

"Yep. Rune showed me. And Athis too."

"Rune? What kind of name is that?"

"A false one. But they're used to us Companions in the meantime," I said with a snicker. "In fact, I thought about a cooperation. Their skills could be useful... occasionally."

His face closed down into a deep frown. "They're thieves. Scum with false names."

"But they're nice, once you know them. Athis thinks so too. They even wanted to poach him."

"They really are," Farkas said, poking the fire to avoid Vilkas' speechless glare. "Brynjolf didn't pilfer Maramal's donation box. That was pretty nice."

"And they made a party for us. Now we owe them," I added.

"But they're honourless vermin!" Vilkas barked out. The dagger he used to cut the meat pointed accusingly at me. "What comes next, the Dark Brotherhood?"

"Dunno," I shrugged, "do they have a tavern?"

"We should ask the next assassin they send," Farkas said dryly.

"Yep. And while we're at it, I'd really like to know who has done the Black Sacrament for me."

Vilkas mouth stood open. "You're not serious."

"Of course I'm serious. I want nothing to do with them if they can't serve a proper drink."

"They should be happy to cooperate." Farkas nodded gravely. "That job with you is a waste of perfectly fine murderers, after all."

"Yeah. And if not… I still need a cloak to match their armour."

"You have taken their armour? And you _wear_ it?" Vilkas looked horrified.

"Hey, it's hot! Black and red leather. Tight. I really want a set for Farkas." I had massive difficulties to stifle my giggle as I gave my husband a lascivious once-over, and he bit his lower lip hard. A choked noise came from his throat. My gaze turned to Vilkas. "It would suit you too."

His face grew red with mortified embarrassment. "I would never …!" But Farkas burst before he could finish the sentence, bending over and howling with laughter. I gave in and joined into his guffaw, leaning over his back. Vilkas' miffed expression was hilarious.

Finally he straightened himself, forcing himself to become serious. "Don't worry, brother. I swear on my honour and by all the Divines that I will never wear Dark Brotherhood armour." He cleared his throat, the corners of his mouth twitching. "In public."

Vilkas swallowed a gulp of air, his gaze shifting from his brother to me and back. He closed his mouth with conscious effort. "Not funny," he pressed out between clenched teeth. "Gods, you're so made for each other."

"Yeah, we are, aren't we?" Farkas bent down to me and smacked a kiss on my lips, and Vilkas' irritated grunt only rekindled our laughter.

Shortly after we crossed the Karth River we left the comfort of the road and turned northwards into the mountains. In opposite to other holds, the streets of the Reach were less safe than the wilderness, with their Thalmor patrols and abandoned forts by the roadside that were often manned with Forsworn. We would meet it again not far south of Dragons Bridge, and from there we'd make our way into the swamps of Hjaalmarch.

This first day of our journey went by surprisingly smooth. Of course we were cautious with each other… well, mostly. Vilkas and I were cautious, Farkas simply wasn't able to. He always said what went through his mind or he said nothing at all, and it was impossible for him to stay quiet when he was happy – and he was so obviously happy now that it was heart-melting, and his plain, unsophisticated good mood was infectious and rubbed off not only on me. More than once I saw a cheerful smile flare up when he looked at us, and when Vilkas caught me watching him with an amused smile, even his lips curled in sympathy.

Nobody could embrace a simple moment of happiness as wholeheartedly and innocent as Farkas, without a thought of the future. I envied him for this ability.

It was mostly our routine that made travelling so easy. Everybody knew what had to be done, nobody let his guard down, we looked out for each other. I went hunting during the afternoon, and when I didn't show up at the agreed meeting point at the agreed time, the men waited for me without complaint. Farkas cooked for us in the evening, and we split the watches evenly. Not once did we argue about all these mundane tasks, and it made everything else equally uncomplicated. Astonishing uncomplicated.

Everything went fine until the early evening of the second day. We had left Dragon Bridge behind and were already looking for a suitable campsite in the foothills of the Reach when we met the wandering minstrel.

"Talsgar!" Farkas and I cried out in unison. _Everybody_ knew the bard, apparently.

I recognised him at once, the white curls, his friendly sunburnt face and the lute that was slung to his back, carefully wrapped into waxed cloth. When we found him, he stood between the bodies of two shabby and very dead bandits, a look of sadness on his face although the glow of a lightning spell still rested in his palm.

A look that changed first into confusion and then into delighted surprise when we called him out.

"My, if that isn't the lady with the swift blade and my favourite Companion," he smiled and extended a greeting hand.

"What happened?" I looked around.

"Oh… nothing. They made a mistake."

"Looks like that," Farkas grunted. "Are you injured?"

He shook his head, his gaze shifting to the darkening sky. "No. But I have to go."

"But it's getting late," I said. "You wanna join us? We're about to make camp. It's not safe alone."

The bard looked hesitantly from me to the men, took in Farkas' inviting expression and Vilkas' open scowl. I didn't care what he thought. Talsgar, as short as our meeting back then had been, had played a much more important role in my life than they'd ever know. Than he knew himself, probably.

I smiled encouragingly at him, but he shook his head.

"I've something to do first. Perhaps I'll find you later. You know I'm good at finding things." A small, ironic smile quirked his lips before he vanished between the hills.

Perhaps it was better this way. Vilkas' inquiring gaze showed his suspiciousness.

"That's the madman who'd rather sing for foxes and butterflies than to get a proper audience in an inn. Where do you know him from?"

I wouldn't give away Athis' secret. "Not your business, Vilkas." I turned to Farkas. "And yours neither, so don't even ask."

"But you can't just invite some stranger with questionable reputation to our camp."

"Oh yes, I can. You've seen how I can."

The sudden tension in the air was palpable. Of course I didn't _really_ know this bard. Yes, to invite him was spontaneous and perhaps too rash. But Vilkas was by all means the last to tell me not to listen to my guts when I felt like it.

"He's no stranger, Vilkas. You know how long I know him already," Farkas said in an effort to ease the mood.

"How do you know him?" I asked.

A gentle smile played around his lips. "I met him the first time when he was only a pup on his way to the college in Solitude."

"A pup?" I couldn't imagine Talsgar as a young man. He had something ancient and ageless at the time about him. I looked at him with wide eyes. "But that would mean…"

"Yeah. I was seven and out on my first job with Jergen. We saved him from some bandits."

Vilkas pressed his lips into a firm line, but he let it go. For now.

But when I came back from my search for firewood, I couldn't avoid to hear the twins argue. Not that they really tried to keep quiet. I dropped into a crouch and eavesdropped shamelessly.

"It's a singing mage, Farkas! He isn't trustworthy! How can you defend her when she invites shabby strangers to our fire and brings us all into danger?"

"That guy is no danger and you know it. And if he's trustworthy or not is not yours to decide. She'll have her reasons."

"Aye, and don't you think it's suspicious that even _you_ don't know her reasons? Who knows what history they have!"

Farkas' voice was dangerously low. "You don't wanna go there, Vilkas, be careful. I know her history with you, and still you're here. Better hold your tongue."

The sudden flash that went over his face didn't stop him to argue. "You're naïve, brother. Always have been, always will be. Be as gullible as you want… if he shows up tonight I'll have my eyes on him."

I entered the clearing. "Do that, Vilkas. I'm sure we'll all feel much safer when you watch over us. Oh, and I don't have a _history_ with Talsgar. I only met him once."

He bared his teeth at me in an angry snarl. Seemed he had to relearn what it meant to be amongst pack. I dropped my armful of wood in the middle of the camp and poked him in the chest.

"Relax. And stop fighting your brother just because he thinks I know what I'm doing."

He didn't like to be touched, and he it liked even less by me, even if it was just an index to the breastplate. A shiver ran through him, but then he pulled himself together, and a lopsided smirk appeared in his uptight features.

"Or what? You're gonna send me to bed without dinner?"

I shot him a grin over my shoulder as I started the fire. "Don't give me ideas."

Somehow, the tension had dissolved.

Talsgar approached our camp with enough noise to make himself known from miles away, but Vilkas still thought it appropriate to greet him with his hand on the hilt of his sword. But the bard seemingly ignored the gesture and Vilkas' scowl and took the place I offered him beside me with a grateful smile. Farkas shovelled without any ado the remains of our stew into a bowl and handed it to him.

He nodded thankfully, then looked expectantly in the round. "And with whom do I have the pleasure?"

And I remembered. He didn't even know my name. Athis didn't tell him who I was, I never told him either, and then I chased him away. I blushed furiously.

"You know Farkas already, and this is his brother Vilkas," I gestured over to him. "And my name's Qhourian."

Farkas looked perplexed, his eyes narrowing. "I thought you've met before?"

"Oh, we have, we have. We just haven't been introduced properly," the bard admitted cheerfully. I didn't miss the meaningful glance Vilkas gave his brother, and I couldn't blame him. This had to look weird.

Talsgar did the same he had done when he came to my camp: he made himself comfortable, in his friendly, natural, slightly disturbing way. I was sure that he was by no means oblivious to the reactions of the twins – Farkas friendly and curious, Vilkas' suspicion only poorly hidden – and just as he didn't bother about my reaction back then, he didn't bother now. Or he was certain to be able to scatter this suspiciousness… after all, he had broken even through my walls.

It was silent while he ate with relish and we watched him quietly, but somehow it wasn't an awkward silence. Even Vilkas' scowl had lost a bit of its harshness, and the way he sat by the fire, his long legs stretched towards the flames and braced on his arms behind his back, he looked nearly content. I leant against Farkas' shoulder, his arm loosely slung around my waist.

If it took this stranger to make us relax like this in each other's company, it had been a good idea to invite him.

Finally Talsgar had emptied his bowl and put it down with a content groan. "That was truly delicious," he bowed his head slightly, "thank you, friends. And thank you for the invitation. A night in warmth and safety is a gift that is very much appreciated."

I handed him a bottle of ale. "Will you play something for us? Please?" But he rejected the drink with a gentle smile.

"I just need some water," he said and took a small kettle and a leather pouch out of his pack. It contained dry herbs, and the brew he made smelled the same as the one he had served me that morning.

"Nothing better to make a bright day even brighter. Or to light up a dark night," he said and sipped at his tankard, his lute already resting in his lap. His eyes searched mine over the brim. "I can sing you a song, of course. Or we can sing together. Or I can tell you a story." He tilted his head, and his gaze wandered expectantly from face to face.

His fingers flitted over the strings, in a lazy, natural motion, and the soft tune he elicited from the instrument didn't disturb the silence at all. It was the silence of the night, with all the small noises and scents that came with it, enhanced by the darkness. His play fit right in.

"A story. Please." It was Vilkas who spoke.

"A tale it is then." He never stopped playing, the sound soothing like a caress as he gathered his thoughts.

"I will tell you a tale that originates from here… from the Reach. It's the history of the Reachmen, how they lost their freedom and their land. And it's the legend of a hero and a prophecy, of an unholy pact and betrayal, the search for power and the price that is to pay."

He let the words sink in for a moment. They struck a chord in each of us… familiar on a level that was far more personal than mere interest in a thrilling story. I was sure he could feel the anticipation they had evoked when he started to speak.

"The Empire was young and called the Alessian and the Reach was still a free land when these events took place, its people a proud folk, different in their habits, language and beliefs from all the races around them. But they were cornered from all sides and were distrustful against everyone, even against their own brethren. Many small kingdoms warred here against each other, and only their sages had the power to unite them through forecast and prophecy in hours of great need.

"One day a boy was born in the Sundered Hills, in the heart of the land, and he received the name of the eagle circling around the peaks of the mountains and the blood flowing down the steeps of the hills. Faolan, Red Eagle he was called, and the Augurs looked at the stars and tied his name to his destiny: to be a warrior without peers, to be the one to unite his people and to bring freedom and peace.

"And a warrior he became, the greatest of them all, true to his fate. He vanquished rivals and opponents and rose to leadership, became strong in a time of need for his land. The Empress of the South was lusting after the rich realms of the North. Broaden her influence, unite the peoples under her banner – and get access to the treasures beyond her borders, that was what she wanted. The Reach was as barren then as it is today, but its mines laden with silver, iron and gems were highly coveted – as they still are.

"One by one the Kings of the Reach fell to the Empress' forces, either to their knees or into their grave. Only Faolan, young but powerful, was not willing to yield. He stood proud and strong against the invaders, refused their bargains and sent back their bribes, stout to fight and die for his people's freedom rather than to surrender to their twisted promises. But he was too young and too proud and too rash, loath to listen to the advice of his counsellors, and in the end he was deceived not by his foes but by those he trusted, by the weak-hearted who chose a life under a foreign tyranny over their own ways and the war that was inevitable.

"The Augurs and Sages, those who had forecast his fate and made him the man he was, they abandoned him now and with him the fate of their people. The Red Eagle was defrauded of his land, his power and his very name.

"He was betrayed, but he was not broken. A prophecy once spoken cannot be abjured, a destiny can only be formed, but not be rewritten. Faolan gathered those who were true to him and went into hiding, claiming the caves and crevices of the land as his kingdom. He became the untamed spirit of the Reach, hurling revenge at Imperials and traitors alike, and his followers grew in numbers, hope and strength under the Alessian oppression."

Talsgar's voice was soft and low, and his fingers treated the strings as if they had a life of their own. He spoke slowly, completely withdrawn into himself, his gaze lowered to the body of his instrument. Not once did he look up to search for our reaction, so different from the bards I knew from the cities. So different from Mikael who was always in touch with his audience, who craved for every small sign of appraisal as if he needed it like the air to breathe.

The bard became a weaver of sounds, tunes and words wound together into something more. Something to get lost in.

Talsgar had paused, only his lute playing a soft interlude that kept the suspense in the air. His story was not finished, but he took his time, gave us opportunity to free ourselves from the spell he had woven around us. I used the break to kindle the fire and feed it with some more dry twigs while Farkas refilled our mugs. He only continued when he was sure our attention was back on him.

"Faolan and his followers lived with and from the land, never forgotten, the prophecy living as well as the legend he had once been. They were fierce, and they wreaked terror over the Empire and the traitors amongst their own, but they were only few and without the means to start a real war. For every Imperial soldier they wiped out, two more moved up to take their place.

"It was a dark, wet and cold night when the second betrayal took its course, the sky over the Reach choked by clouds. The war had taken its toll, and even Faolan's most faithful followers fell victim to doubt in nights like these. Damp, frozen hopelessness ground its way into their hearts when the scouts came and gave account of fortified garrisons full of men and their steel, full of food, ale and whores, without doubt about their victory and of their right to be here.

"In such a night a stranger was caught near Red Eagle's camp, a huddled, shambling figure, cloaked in rags and face hidden under a cowl. Intruders were put to death, such was the rule to prevent deceit and discovery, and the Red Eagle himself came to witness the execution. Only when the stranger already knelt in front of a blade ready to strike, she raised her voice and asked – no, demanded – to be allowed to speak to the righteous king of the land. It wasn't human, this voice, screeching and alluring, sated with the power of the wilds.

"Faolan stood and watched, contemplating the insolent request, his men waiting for the sign to carry out his order. And then he beckoned to release the stranger and led her to shelter, guided by curiosity and a dark foreboding.

"Only when they were alone, she revealed her nature. Not human. Not at all, not any more. A witch she was, an abomination fused of woman and creature, a spirit of the wild, venerable and terrifying. A Hagraven, corrupted, evil… and powerful in the ways of dark, ancient magic.

"'You need the strength of the land,' she spoke to him. 'Only the land itself can erase the taint of the strangers. I can give this strength to you. I will give it to you, for a price.'

"A pact was made, a contract sealed, and Faolan didn't haggle. He surrendered to the offer and gave what deemed necessary: he gave his heart, his soul, his humanity. But he sold a soul that was not his alone, bound by fate and prophecy. He was deceived into power, and with himself, he sold the heart and the soul of his people."

Talsgar made us hear more than just his words. He wove his spell of words and melodies, and we heard the noise of the fights and the screams of dying men, felt the despair around the shattered, lonely fires and the fury hidden in the damp caves scattered throughout the landscape around us. And we smelled the stench of witchcraft, listened to the screech of a raven and the subtle, deceiving promise it carried.

The Circle knew them, these subtle promises of power and that the price was always higher than anticipated. Nobody knew it better than we. A suppressed groan erupted from Vilkas' throat.

I didn't know to what extend Talsgar was aware what effect his tale had on us, but he built up the tension so subtle and smart that I was sure he wasn't as withdrawn as he looked. He was cunning… drawing us in, ensnaring us in his story. Did he know what it meant to us? Did he know what we were? Or did he just choose it because it fit the setting? I didn't know.

"But the witch stood by her promise, and his band of ragged, desperate fighters grew into an army no one could stand against. Not the thriving garrisons, not the traitorous leaders of the Reach. He spilled blood until the Karth turned red, and after two winters his home was free again, ruled by a king whose eyes burned cold like obsidian with a will not entirely his own. He had become one with the land, eternally hurting from the thorns that covered his heart. He was the briar that sheltered his people from the outside world.

"The Reach was free, but the peace he had paid so dearly for was short and treacherous. The Empress' generals came with an army unheard of, the land itself surrendering to their supremacy. They conquered and vanquished and finally laid siege to Faolan's fortress in the Sundered Hills until he came forth himself for the last battle. He wore nothing but his rage and his flaming sword, and a thousand men fell to his fury before the day ended.

"But in the end, when night fell, so did he. And his mind was clear once more, and he saw what he had done – sold himself for a treacherous power, given his life, his soul and his dream, and by surrendering to the ancient witchery he had not only condemned himself, but all of his people. All of his land.

"The oath he spoke with his last breath, to come back and lead them again once the Reach was free, it was the last betrayal. With this oath he claimed to be what he had given away: the heart and soul of his people, and he condemned his people to fulfil the destiny he had abandoned."

I felt Farkas' grip tense around me, barely noticeable but proof of his rapt attention, and it made me look up. Vilkas sat curled up into a ball, hands folded around his shins, forehead resting on his knees. His shoulders were twitching.

Talsgar had stopped to play, his hands lying flat on the corpus of his lute. His voice was so quiet now, I had to concentrate to hear him.

"They fight until today. Until today, they sacrifice their own to the dark magic of the land, make them the thornhedge they hope to find freedom and peace behind. They are trapped… in their old ways, in a prophecy that still has to come true and in an oath that still has to be fulfilled. They still hope that one day the price will be paid and the promise will be delivered. They fight for the freedom of their people, their land and their souls, and they will fight until the world ends or the dead rise to lead them again. Until eternity, if they have to."

It was quiet as if the night itself held its breath and didn't dare to make a sound when Talsgar had finished. It was broken by a desperate shout and a dark shadow. Vilkas was like a flash as he leaped up and over the fire, shoved the bard to his back and pressed him to the ground. He hovered above him, his hands dangerously close to his throat.

"Lies!" he roared, "not for eternity!"

"Vilkas!"

Farkas and I yelled in unison, but I was faster, grabbed his shoulders and hurled him away from the bard. But he didn't struggle, let go without resistance and slumped together at my feet. For a moment, we were all like frozen. And then he shook off my hands, frenzied hurt and guilt in his face, scrambled to his feet and darted off into the darkness.

Farkas ran after him, reaching into his neck and drawing his shirt over his head, letting it fall where he was.

I waited for the howl that always broke free with the change, and it came, twofold. The bard regarded me with calm, gentle eyes when I dropped beside him to my knees. He didn't flinch when I touched his shoulder with my fingertips.

"I'm sorry, Talsgar. So sorry. That shouldn't have happened…"

He looked… mostly curious. "What _exactly_ happened?" The question baffled me.

"He tried to hurt you?"

The bard seemed to contemplate my answer, his fingers drumming a light rhythm on the corpus of his lute. "No. No, I don't think so."

"Why did you tell us this story?"

His smile was gentle. "I'm not sure. I'm never sure why I choose something. Just go with my guts, and when I saw you three… I thought it had a meaning to you."

"You're a wise man, Talsgar." I hesitated. "You wanna leave? I'd understand if you don't want to stay… here, tonight, with us, I mean… I could bring you back to the road. At least." My blush only deepened when the man chuckled lowly.

"No, girl, don't worry. I'm quite comfortable here. And it would be rude to leave a lady alone here in the middle of nowhere." He grinned, a sympathetic grin considering how we had met first – alone in my camp in the middle of nowhere. "I'll stay at least until your men are back."

"They're not my men!"

"No, of course they're not," he chortled.

The small kettle still stood by his side, and now he filled it with fresh water and set it into the glowing coals. Soon the invigorating scent of his mysterious brew drafted from the tankard. "You want some?" he offered, and I took it gladly. The hot beverage warmed my cold fingers and calmed my mind.

I had the feeling I had to explain myself. The incident and why Vilkas had reacted so frenzied. But I couldn't, of course. I still pondered what to say without saying too much when his next remark started me up.

"You have experience with betrayal. All of you."

I stared at him. Gods, this man was far too clever for his own good. Or he had seen far too much in his life.

"Yes, we have. The three of us… personally. And… in a more general sense."

"I see." He sipped on his tankard, making soft slurping noises when the hot brew burnt his tongue.

"Talsgar?" His friendly eyes looked at me without pressure. They had not once lost their gentleness during the last hours. "I know that Athis sent you to me, last time we met. And… I'm sorry I destroyed your lute. And nearly slit your throat. It seems you're in danger every time we meet."

The laughlines around his eyes crinkled in open amusement. "Aye," he chuckled, "that mer… he knows that one day, curiosity will kill the bard." He refilled his tankard with slow, careful motions. "You wouldn't have killed me, girl. You were desperate and lonely, but you never would've killed someone who came to you in peace. Even if you didn't understand it." He took another sip, and his next words were casual. "Your Vilkas here, he's desperate and lonely too."

This man was far too clever for his own good.

A noise at the edge of the clearing indicated someone coming back, not caring to be silent. It was Farkas, he was alone, and the excitement of the change was drowned out by anger, sadness and disappointment radiating from him in waves as he pulled his discarded shirt back on. When I went to meet him and pulled him into my arms, tried to get over the tension in his muscles, he buried his face in my neck with a heavy breath.

"It will be fine," I said, stroking the back of his head. "We will be fine."

He sighed deeply. "He's such a fool," he whispered.

"Where is he?"

"Needs to calm down. Alone. He will come back."

"Good."

Farkas took the first watch, and despite the excitement I felt tiredness defeat my body as soon as I crept into the bedroll. The low mumbling of the men outside of the tent lured me into sleep, and I smiled when my eyes closed. It would do him good to speak with the bard. He had an astonishing effect on people… and he was an outsider who knew nothing about us.

To be ripped out of sleep in the middle of the night was as terrible an experience as always, and Farkas knew better than to force me into a conversation consisting of more than a few annoyed grunts when he had to wake me. Instead he waited patiently until I had brought myself to creep out of my cosy nest and get back into my armour before he settled into the tent. He usually used my bedroll in these situations, and I envied him deeply for the warmth I had left him behind.

But once I was properly awake, I loved these quiet hours of the night when I watched over the safety of us all. It was one of the few opportunities to be alone, and I didn't need much sleep anyway. It was rare that anything happened at all during these hours, and if a pack of wolves or another animal became too curious, my senses were always alert enough to warn me early, even if my thoughts were elsewhere. That we were attacked was even rarer. The wildlife sensed the beasts in us and stayed away, and humans finding us accidentally in the depth of night… well, those were either drunk or suicidal.

And so I sat with the lowly glowing embers of the fire warm in my back, Dragonbane on my knees, and listened to the sounds of the night. The hoot of an owl, rustling under dry leaves, the noise of pebbles rolling down a slope where goats made their way over unclimbable heights, the thrumming hooves of a herd of deer, the distant roar of a predator. And the breathing or light snoring of the men under my watch who trusted me enough to delve into their dreams, Farkas in our tent, Talsgar curled up under some furs near the fire.

Watching him brought a smile to my face. What a strange man. He seemed so dupable… trusting and helpless, but I knew he was neither. When we met, he stood between corpses he had killed himself. But now he slept peacefully, here in our camp where he had been attacked only hours ago, and he had not once shown any fear. Quite the contrary, really… He always looked content, absolutely happy with where he was and what he did. I wondered if he had family or close friends somewhere, people who waited for him to come home, people he missed during his travels. People who were close enough to drive him mad. I had to smile at the thought. A bit of madness was a small price for a place to come back to.

Not even Vilkas' return could disturb me. He came back silently and settled on a log in my back, staring into the coals with his elbows on his knees and his chin propped into his palms. He didn't move and ignored me completely, but I could sense that he had calmed down.

Only when I heard the soft clinks of glass against glass, I turned around to see what he was doing. He had placed his pack between his feet and was sorting out all the potions, salves and bandages he was carrying.

"What are you doing?" I whispered, not wanting to disturb the sleeping men.

He lifted his gaze to me, calm and collected. "You need them more than I."

I narrowed my eyes in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I'll go back to Skyhaven." He held my gaze. "I'm sorry I ruined this for you. But I don't think it will work."

He was pathetic. "You give up so easily?" I snapped, "run away before we've even reached Morthal? Not worth much, that promise you made."

He clenched his teeth. "I wanted to kill him, Qhourian."

"Yeah. And two days ago I wanted to kill you. But I didn't, and now we're both here." I shook my head. "What we want and what we do is not the same, Vilkas. What we want is only important in here." I tipped at my temple. "But what really counts is what we do. And tonight, you only made a fool of yourself. Talsgar is fine, no harm done."

His hands were clenched into a tangled piece of cotton strip. "That's what you think?" His voice was shallow.

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, I think you're an enormous jerk." I pointed behind me. "There's room in the tent. Go cuddle with your brother and get some rest."

He tidied up the mess he had made without a further word. Farkas grunted annoyed when he crawled beside him, but soon I heard nothing around me but threefold deep breathing. I wondered why he complied so easily to what I told him to do, but I was glad to have my peace again.

These hours of quiet were the hours when I did a lot of thinking, the fateful habit Farkas wanted me to get rid of. Rags of conversations paced through my mind, evoked by Talsgar's presence and the events of the evening.

_"You're so much alike, it's scary."_  
 _"Your Vilkas here, he's desperate and lonely too."_  
 _"He can’t bear it, you know? Not to be in control. To be helpless."_  
 _"We are closer than others, closer than mere siblings, friends or even lovers."_  
 _"He's my little brother."_  
 _"I have to start with you, and I need your help."_

This evening had opened my eyes to something I should have realised much earlier. Vilkas – cruel, violent, cold and calculating Vilkas – was by far the most vulnerable of us three.

Farkas' and my relationship was built on everything that we had shared, that we knew each other inside out. There were no secrets, nothing that we could hide from each other, no matter how dark, cruel or painful.

And to a lesser regard, I shared something similar with Aela and even Kodlak. I knew about Aela's struggle for balance and her fanatic, irrational hatred of the Silver Hand as well as Kodlak's fears regarding his afterlife, so deep and urgent that he sometimes forgot that he was still alive.

And they knew me just as well, every single one of my weak spots, and it had never bothered me. We had built the foundation of knowledge and trust for this inescapable bond the blood formed between us long before I had joined them.

Vilkas and I shared the blood, but we lacked the foundation. We had never had opportunity to build it. The relationship between us had always been determined by power and control. He had been so much stronger than me - physically and in regards to his skill, his knowledge and his rank. I had never questioned his superiority.

But power and control didn't work any more, and I understood why he had such a hard time to deal with this change. I had the safety and the support of my husband and the others. He didn't. He was a part of the pack, and at the same time he was an outcast.

And as an outcast with nothing to rely on, he was dangerous, prone to lash out against everyone who threatened to discover his weaknesses. Tonight, it had been Talsgar.

If I wanted this journey with Vilkas to work, we'd have to work on the foundation. We'd have to get to know each other, and we'd have to learn to trust and honesty.

I had no idea if I could bear to get involved with him so deeply. I didn't know either if he would allow it. Perhaps it wasn't possible to rebuild the bridges we had burnt between us.

But I had told him I wanted to try and start something new, and he had asked to give him this chance. We would have to try. Yes, this was gonna be a long, exhausting, difficult and dangerous journey.

Talsgar got up long before sunrise, going from deeply asleep to wide awake in only a blink of an eye. He had his stuff packed in a matter of minutes, his instrument again wrapped neatly into its cloth, but then he settled beside me on my log and filled my mug with another of his brews. He seemed to produce and drink this beverage in enormous amounts.

"Thanks for your company, Talsgar."

He looked nearly apologetic. "I'm sorry I disturbed your peace. Give the men my greetings, will you?"

I smiled at him. "It should be me who apologises. But perhaps… it was good that it happened tonight. I hope we'll meet again, one day, under luckier stars."

He tilted his head into his neck and looked up into the clouded sky.

"Yes, perhaps. You know…" he chuckled lowly, "your tale will be an interesting one, Dragonborn. It would be an honour and a pleasure to tell it."

He stood up and was gone before I could answer, vanished into the darkness.

"Kynareth guide you," I whispered after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tale how 7-year-old Farkas once saved Talsgar from bandits is told in my story "The Letter".


	7. Arrival

Three pairs of siblings, two of them twins, all of them related by blood. Moorside Inn was a turmoil of laughter and chatter and greetings when I entered, the bunch of people clumping up at the bar not even noticing that the door opened.

Less than an hour ago we had entered Morthal in stonen silence, nothing left of the relative easiness of the first days. Vilkas had been his usual broody self since the moment he crawled out of the tent, but that wasn't unexpected, especially not after the incident with Talsgar.

But Farkas wasn't much better, taciturn, edgy and disturbingly quiet, and it became worse the closer we got to Morthal. We barely exchanged more than a few sentences over the day, only his gaze spoke volumes - worried on me, probing and searching on his brother. Enervating. But he said nothing and I didn't want to ask with Vilkas around, even if he held a distance from us.

I felt irritated anger rise over his behaviour. Did he have second thoughts? Had he finally realised how hazardous this game we played was? Nothing I needed less than him getting cold feet now, especially as the responsibility for this whole trip lay in my hands now. I had to make a decision, but with every step I made I could imagine less to see through with this plan. With every step, I was more convinced the first thing I should do in Morthal was to find a courier and send him straight to Jorrvaskr.

But it would be ridiculous to send Vilkas home now, after I had forced him to stay the night before.

We had split up when we arrived, the men going straight to the inn while I went to visit Idgrod. She offered me to stay at her hall, and she seemed genuinely disappointed when I told her that I'd only stay for one night and that I didn't have time to spend the evening with her. For a moment, I wanted nothing more than to tell her everything that had led me here and ask for her advice. Nothing drew me into the company of Farkas' family. None of them knew what had happened and why I had come here with both of the twins.

But I had promised to join the others, and now I watched this weird family that they had somehow made to work. The brothers were the centre of the crowd, Farkas with one girl on his hip and the other on his hand, chatting vocally and boisterous with Jonna, Carsten and Falion. As if he had shrugged off all worries as soon as I was out of sight and he had his family around him.

Here, he could relax, was just a father and a friend, loved and adored. Here, he could free himself from everything I burdened him with and that he always carried without complaint. He had a right to do so, even if I couldn't do the same. Seeing him here in this company of which he was such an integral part, I realised again why I didn't like to come here. He needed this for himself. It was his vacation from me.

He had earned it, manifold. I felt left out, but it wasn't his fault. I wouldn't blame him for being happy.

Vilkas stood beside him, silent but relaxed. He already belonged more to this group than I ever would. For the moment, they had forgotten about me, about Blackreach and Alduin, and were only a family while I was only a stranger, a guest, welcome for a few hours and not missed when gone again.

I could only guess that it was Siona who was the first to spot me standing at the door. She let go of her father's hand, strode through the room and stood before me, her hands in her hips and a reproachful frown on her cute little face.

"You promised to keep him safe!"

I recoiled from the venom in her voice, lost for words. But her outcry had gathered the attention of the adults, and they turned as one to the door.

"Siona!" Farkas barked, fast steps carrying him towards us. He took his daughter by the shoulders and gave me an apologising gaze. "It wasn't her fault. I told you already."

"But she's right," I said weakly. "I didn't keep you safe."

"Qhouri, please!" He rolled his eyes, shrugged and turned, giving me a gesture over his shoulder. "Come in. We've been waiting for you."

No, they didn't. My eyes searched for Vilkas who watched us stoically. I jerked my head towards the door and left. It was time to get this over with.

Athis would call me cranky, and he would be right. I missed the mer as I waited on the small porch in front of the inn, leaning with my elbows on the balustrade. It wasn't late enough for Morthal to be entirely quiet, a couple of guards made their way through the village, lights flickered behind the windows of Highmoon Hall and of the guard barracks, I heard laughter and the crying of a child. But the night lay like a blanket around me, itching like rough wool on naked skin and choking my breath.

I missed the mer, his snark and support and understanding. If he were here, I wouldn't have to make a decision.

I didn't want to make it. I didn't want to delve into the black abyss that was Blackreach, didn't want to search for this Scroll and read it, didn't want to leave my husband behind and spend so much time with his brother.

I didn't want to, but I had to. Vilkas came out and leant beside me, his back to the railing, his arms crossed over his chest.

I turned my head to him, but he stared at the window, golden light streaming over the wooden planks. In there were people who liked him because they didn't know him.

"Will you behave down there?" I asked briskly.

He took his time with his answer. "I hope we mean the same when it comes to behaving," he said finally. There was a smirk in his voice, as if he wanted to mock me.

"You know exactly what I mean!" I snapped.

"I will protect you with my life, Qhourian. But will you behave too?"

"What do you mean?" I narrowed my brows in anger.

"I will be your shield-brother, not a hireling you can order around. Will you work with me like you would work with Athis or Ria?"

No, I wouldn't. With Athis or Ria, there would be fun and teasing and an unspoken understanding. We would care for each other. Nothing of this was possible with him.

"You still seem to believe that this is about you, Vilkas. It isn't. I can't waste my strength on you."

Now he turned around and mimicked my posture. He was close enough to feel his bodywarmth, our elbows nearly touching. I had to suppress a shudder.

"We can't make this work if you don't believe me." He stared stoically ahead.

And with this he was right. Perhaps every single step that had led us here and brought me into this impossible situation had been a big mistake. I didn't believe him, and I didn't trust him. He had done nothing to earn it.

So far, I had had Farkas with his optimism by my side and a lot of time to argue this decision for myself. But now I was on my own and the arguing had to come to an end. What seemed reasonable before coiled now in dreadful foreboding in my stomach.

This whole idea had been insane.

I let out a deep breath of defeat when he turned his head to me. Bright eyes in a face hidden in shadows.

"I know this is about Alduin," he said lowly. "If nothing else, I want as much as everyone else on Nirn that you're successful against him. And I gave you a promise. Let me prove it."

"Your reasons to make this promise were entirely selfish."

"As were yours when you considered it."

"That's preposterous!"

Silvery eyes searched my face and lingered on the scars on my cheek. There was no anger, no derision. "We're both selfish, Qhourian. We both want peace with each other, because everything else would cost us too much. But we can only find it if we try."

Perhaps he had come to the same conclusion as I. Perhaps we'd be able to learn.

But all _perhaps_ and _what ifs_ , doubts and delays would lead to nothing. Vilkas only added another risk to an already terribly dangerous journey, but I wouldn't give him the satisfaction that I didn't dare to take a risk. If it worked, he would be a great help. And if it didn't and worse came to worst, I'd just deal with him like I dealt with dragons and Dwemer machines. I wasn't helpless against him.

There was no use in stalling any longer. I straightened myself. "Okay." He flinched slightly, as if he hadn't expected this. "Please tell Farkas I'm off. I'll see you tomorrow."

He nodded, turned without another word and vanished into the inn.

I contemplated what to do now. I didn't want to go back inside, and although Idgrod would certainly be happy to share a goblet of wine with me, the thought to feign interest for the latest local gossip made me cringe. I wanted these last hours for myself. Gather my thoughts, gather my strength, come to peace with the weight of the following weeks.

Weeks with Vilkas, and I already felt exhausted before we had even started.

But before I could make a decision, strong arms wrapped around my waist. "You didn't think I let you spend this night without me, did you?" Farkas whispered into my ear.

The tension that always held me in its grip when I had to deal with his brother rushed from my body with a ragged breath. I sagged into the warmth of his embrace, blinking against the wetness in my eyes. "Can just as well get used to it."

He turned me around, forced me to face him. His thumb caught a tear that spilled over. "I hope you don't. I certainly won't." He made me smile. He always made me smile, no matter what. Something else I would miss terribly. His expression was serious. "I'm sorry, Qhouri. I wasn't much of a help today."

"I'd like to know that at least one person I can take seriously thinks this is a good idea."

He swallowed. "It's just... I don't wanna let you go. I wanted to tell you not to go without me."

"But you can't. Siona has reason enough to be angry with me."

"She's a brat."

I rested my head against his shoulder. "No. She loves you. They will be happy when I'm gone and you stay here."

"I'd rather go with you. You know that, don't you?"

"I wish we could just run off," I whispered. "Let Alduin eat the world." Run away from everything – Falmer and Dwemer, Paarthurnax and the Worldeater, Vilkas and his family.

He held me for long minutes until I felt his index under my chin. "Okay," he said with a smile.

"Okay?"

"Let's run off. Just for tonight." He glanced at the sky, took my hand and pulled me down the stairs. No moons were out yet, but the hazy air made the stars sparkle. "Come on. We only need our bedrolls."

We didn't run far, only until we had found a sheltered place in the mountains south of Morthal, a small delve between a few boulders we could use to fasten a tarp between. Beneath it, it was nearly cosy.

We went hunting because it was my last opportunity for who knew how long, chased some goats and a bear through the rocky terrain. After we had fed we chased each other, playful and wild, upwards until we had arrived at the peak and our howl echoed down into the abyss of the Labyrinthian stone chaos that lay spread out beneath us like the playground of a giant.

Back in our refuge, the excitement of the change still coursing through our veins, we didn't need words. Our lovemaking was frenzied and urgent and rough, he ravished my body and I marked him as mine until we became one in an explosion of white light and nothing was left but him and me.

"Farkas?"

My head was hazy and empty, my heart still hammering against my ribs. We lay tangled together, exhausted, sweaty and caught in the aftermath of a bliss we could only experience with each other. I wanted to stay like this forever, on top of him, our legs tangled together and with his arms around me.

"Hmmm?" His hands wandered lazily over my back.

"What do you think of… "

When I became quiet he tilted his head until he could look into my face.

"Qhouri?"

"Could you imagine to have another family?"

I didn't really think before asking, and now I drew my head away, feeling silly. What an incredible daft moment for such a question. But his embrace tightened, then he turned to the side and spread one hand over my stomach. And he forced me to look into his face.

"It would be a gift," he said quietly, "the biggest gift of all to have a family with you. If you were the mother of my children… some day. And it's already a gift that you dare to think of it. That you ask this question."

I covered his hand with mine, took in his expression full of seriousness and amazement. "Some day." I smiled, feeling relieved and strangely light and brittle, and tears dropped down on his chest as his arms closed around me.

"I don't wanna let you go," he whispered. "I wish we had more time together. I wish this were over already."

He gave himself to me that night, completely and selfless, filled me to the edge with his love, his tenderness, his passion. We memorised each other with every sense, soothingly familiar touches led to something new, another unexplored layer, so much more to return to. The shivering embrace of completion held us together for the rest of the night, no room left for doubt. I knew where I belonged.

* * *

The attack came out of the blue – literally – and I knew again why I hated icewraiths with a passion.

We were crossing the glacier that led up to Alftand, the ruins already visible in the distance, and the bright midday light on the dreary, uniform white landscape of ice and snow made my eyes water. The swarm was nearly invisible, only the blazing flashes when the creatures were hit by direct sunrays left red dots in my field of view that obscured my sight even further.

They attacked our faces, the only parts of us that weren't covered in furs, as if they were directed by our bodywarmth. With my lighter blade and the protection of the shield I was in a slightly better situation than Vilkas. But all that became irrelevant when the world around us suddenly exploded in a ball of white, even more blinding than the endless snow around us.

The woman appearing behind the curtain of ice was beautiful. Ethereal and fair, seemingly floating in a cloud of glittering mist and clad in white rags that swayed around her rime-covered body in a breeze nobody else could feel. Beautiful and deadly, and her smile was glorious and raving mad as she spread out her arms. Transparent crystals grew in her palms, and the gesture seemed to order her wisps into a new, concerted, even more ferocious attack.

I had only heard in stories of the mysterious wisp-mothers, didn't know if it was a ghost, a spirit or a creature and if the wisps were independent entities or a part of her. They were said to steal children and lure travellers into their demise.

We didn't have to be lured, though, had run directly into her trap. But this was the first serious fight Vilkas and I got in together, and now it became obvious how little we were used to each other. We lacked the instinctive knowledge where the other was and what he was doing, and we failed as shield-siblings. I fought as if I was alone and he did the same, and instead to stay together and decimate the creatures one by one, we let them separate us. His fighting style was unpredictable for me, he never was where I assumed him to be, and the efforts to look out for him ripped me out of the flow of my own fight over and over again. I couldn't concentrate on him, on the erratic movements of the wisps and my own dance over the slippery, cracked ground all at once.

The phantasms seemed to attack in a choreography I couldn't figure out. They were insanely fast, whirling around us, advancing, making contact with nearly imperceptible touches that left bleeding, numb wounds and a feeling of weakness. I thrashed around, swinging my blade in erratic attacks like a child in his first sword training, hitting nothing over and over again. When I hit one of them accidentally, it collapsed with a faint, melodious chink into a glowing heap of ice.

Vilkas was out of my sight when his pained scream tore through the air, only to cut off far too abruptly. I was panting for breath, dizzy with exhaustion and fighting against the weight of my sword and my armour, but I spun around, searched for him and fell into a run in an instant. He lay on his back, the wisp-mother hovering above him. One of the ice-spikes that she had formed out of thin air stuck in his side, blood pooling beneath him in a bright red puddle that was rapidly growing. His head thrashed around and his hand clenched and unclenched around the grip of his sword, but he made no movement of defence as she bent down to pierce the crystals that protruded from her palms into his chest.

"YOL TOOR!"

It was a knee-jerk reaction, and the force of the dragonfire rippled the chill in the air with a power that went through marrow and bone. The ghastly creature flew back with an unearthly, hollow scream.

With their mistress' demise, the wisps stopped their attacks. As I stood with my hands on my knees, fighting for breath, they circled around me and finally simply vanished. My strength came back, at least enough to run over to Vilkas' dead-still body and drop down by his side.

Farkas had complained about it before, that the Blades' armour wasn't sturdy enough. The cuirass was made of single metal plates that lay like scales over each other, attached to a fine layer of chainmail. It wasn't as heavy as the massive steel of the wolf armour, but it also wasn't as resilient.

The ice-spike with its razor-sharp tip had pierced through the plates and snapped one of them off, and now ice and steel were stuck in the flesh right above his hipbone. He bled heavily, and it got worse as the missile started to melt.

Additionally, he had obviously hit his head during the fall. It would have been easier if he had been completely unconscious, but he was just dazed, his legs twitching uncontrollably until I straddled his thighs, his head thrashing around and his gaze unfocused and hazy. His breathing was shallow and ragged, the piece of metal and the ice-spike moving with every rasping pant.

"Lie still," I hissed, frantically cutting the straps of his armour and the fabric of his tunic around the wound.

He would bleed out if I didn't act fast, but he would bleed out even faster if I just removed the objects. Most important was to close the wound. I had my healing spell ready when I gripped them and jerked them out together.

What I didn't notice while I was concentrated on his wound was the change of his expression into something between panic and fury. When his body stiffened and moved, it was already too late, and the steel-clad fist crushing against my jaw let me topple backwards.

"Ouch!" I touched the bruise in my face with trembling fingers, my head still ringing with the bells of Oblivion as I tried to sit up.

Vilkas had hit me. I had saved his fucking life – again! - and he had hit me. A clump of ice formed in my stomach, its cold seeping into my bones, leaving only numbness worse than the spells of the wisps.

We hadn't been cautious enough. _I_ hadn't been cautious enough, I had let my guard down, lulled into this madness by the relaxed atmosphere between us as long as Farkas was around. Treacherous, like everything with this man.

My gut had warned me since we had left Morthal. Vilkas had spent the night at Moorside and was already waiting for us in front of the inn when Farkas and I came back that morning, together with Jonna and Carsten. I clenched my husband's hand when I saw the impatience in his brother's face, but we had already said everything there was to say. I didn't want to leave, he didn't want to let me go. He slung his arm around my shoulder as we approached the little group.

"You two go and kick some Falmer asses," he said sternly, holding his brother's gaze. Vilkas nodded, and Farkas went ahead through the village until we had reached the bridge that led out into the swamps. He pulled me against his chest and pressed his lips to mine.

"I love you," he whispered into my mouth, "come back safe."

I felt his love and his strength and his confidence stream through me like a surge as I drowned in his kiss. This was what I fought for, what I wanted to return to. When I went ahead over the bridge, I clenched my teeth and didn't look back while he drew Vilkas aside.

But Farkas was gone when the village vanished behind us in the morning mist, and I was alone with his brother. Travelling with Vilkas was different from everything I was used to, and it wasn't pleasant. The logistics of the journey were easy enough to deal with, that wasn't the problem. We had planned our route beforehand, I hunted for us to save our rations, we shared the watches, the load and all the little duties that had to be done.

But we had nothing to say to each other, no point of contact, no connection. Nothing to build upon, only a load of things that stood between us.

Perhaps it was his broody mood or my own bad temper, perhaps both our stubbornness, but after the silence had lasted for the first hours, it became impossible to break it. All we exchanged over the next two days were short sentences, where to make camp, who took which watch, if to roast or to cook the game I brought.

I became nervous and irritable under his constant scrutiny, conscious of myself, as if he was only waiting for me to make the first mistake. And I slept even worse than usual, knowing that it was he who held watch over me, no matter how often I told my subconsciousness that he would do his best, that he had promised and that it was safe with him.

_Still better than to fight,_ I told myself. _We can make this work. He still has to prove himself._ But with the silence came the doubts, the speechlessness between us clouding my mind like a dark fog. I wasn't used to be alone in the company of someone else. I was used to camaraderie and friendship, implicit understanding and mutual support.

I retreated into myself and tried to ignore him the best I could, but every once in a while, I felt his gaze on me and saw a fleeting smirk break his stoic expression. For him, this was only a game. Perhaps it had been just a game right from the start, and I had forgotten that winning was the only option once Vilkas started to play – no matter the cost.

And now he had hit me. Again. Because I had _healed_ him. That he didn't know what he was doing, hazy from pain, bloodloss and concussion… I wouldn't accept it as excuse. He had been sane enough to recognise what I did. I didn't think when I used my magic on him, it was the only reasonable thing to do, and his reaction just proved that he had no control over his instincts.

I forced myself to breathe deeply to suppress the riot in my head. I would not panic now. I would not freak out. I was not afraid of the man who lay before me, covered in blood and watching me with shock and confusion in his expression. I shut him out with conscious effort when I scrambled to my feet, shouldered my pack and went away.

"Qhourian!" He called after me in a weak, rasping voice. "What are you... wait!" His words were slurred.

Something between a sob and a laughter escaped me. It seemed I had won our game, but it was a hollow victory. He had his pack and his share of the potions, he could take it and go to Oblivion.

Why was I so naïve? Why didn't I trust my gut feeling once in a while? I could have been where I was now right after I brought Farkas to the useless college healers. I would find this Scroll. I didn't need anybody to help me, and least of all the maniac I left behind, lying in his own blood.

I had no idea what he would do now, but I didn't believe he'd have the balls to return to Morthal and confront his brother. Perhaps he'd run straight to Morrowind now, never to return. But when I entered the platform that would take me into the bowels of Alftand, I closed the door behind me just to be sure. Vilkas didn't have any lockpicking skills either.

Everything was unchanged when I reached the bottom, the corpses of the Imperial man and Redguard woman still lying where we had left them, the stairs I had unlocked with Septimus' device still leading down into the darkness. I started the descent without further delay, only a small patch of light from a torch guiding me deeper and deeper, the steps circling a huge column over and over again.

The door at the bottom looked like every other Dwemer gate I had opened so far. I had no conception of the miracle that lay behind it.

"Holy Ysmir!" My whisper sounded far too loud.

Everything else was forgotten. I had entered another land. Another kingdom. Another world, and it was beautiful.

It was only a cave, technically, but my mind was unable to draw a line between the concept of something surrounded, restricted by walls of rock and _this_. This wasn't a cave… it was a _landscape_.

I stood on a platform a few feet above the ground, stairs leading down on one side. What I could see from my lookout – and I was certain it was only a tiny part of the vastness I'd have to explore, the background vanishing in glittering mist – looked like a city. Dwemer ruins were impressive even in the most ruinous state, but this… this weren't ruins. I saw paved streets meandering through over hills and through valleys, connecting huge complexes of buildings, palaces and towers as well as small huts. I heard the gushing of a waterfall in the distance, the humming sound of Nirnroots and a faint clanking of metal against stone that let me freeze. And it wasn't dark, far from it. Looking up, a sky full of stars twinkled down on me, faint sparkles in every imaginable colour, but the majority of the light came from the… plants. Mushrooms. Whatever they were. They were huge, as high as the buildings, their caps spanning wide and adorned with tendrils that moved lightly in the gentle breeze. And they glowed, emitted a soft, bluish light that sparkled on the dust in the air and produced harsh, black shadows beneath them.

The most distinctive impression of everything I could overlook was that it didn't seem deserted. It looked friendly and inviting, as if the inhabitants of this place would come out of their houses and welcome me to their home any moment. Even the sounds I heard, the subtle movements on balconies and bridges and the Dwemer Centurion that patrolled openly in front of the small house nearest to me couldn't disturb this impression.

I took him out with a couple of arrows and fortunately without alerting anything or anyone else. Inside of the building, I found a skeleton and a journal, and the fact that it had been occupied by an alchemist from Cyrodiil only 150 years ago was strangely reassuring. I wrapped his brittle remains into a cloth, barred the door from the inside and made myself comfortable. Someone else had lived here and searched for knowledge, his notes proved it, and not too long ago… at least not too long considering the age of this place.

The seclusion of the little chamber and the content feeling to have reached this incredible place after so many failed efforts let my exhaustion break through. It was absolutely silent in my refuge, the thick walls sheltering me from everything outside, and I felt content and confident when I placed my bedroll on the stone platform that served as a bed.

 

* * *

  
_"Cast upon where the Dwemer cities slept, the yearning spire hidden learnings kept.  
_ _Under deep. Below the dark. The hidden keep. Tower Mzark."_

I recalled Septimus Signus' mad ramblings as I prepared for my first expedition into the depths of Blackreach. Alftand was checked, Blackreach as well. Now I had to find the last of the names he had given me, the Tower Mzark. Probably one of the higher buildings, I chuckled lighthearted to myself.

I prepared carefully, packed arrows, potions and food for a two-days-trip although I planned to return here for the night. Now that I had seen the first glimpse, I was even more convinced that our assumptions had been right and Blackreach spanned in fact an area about as large as all of Hjaalmarch Hold. I'd have to spend weeks down here, unless I was very lucky and the mysterious tower was just around the corner. Not very probable, though.

At least I was able to make vague assumptions about what I had to expect in this realm. I had read about the war between the Dwemer and the Snow Elves that had raged down here, and considering how Alftand had been overrun with Falmer, this place had to crawl with them. It only seemed so peaceful and quiet because it was so large. I would find them, rather sooner than later, and I'd have to deal with them.

But I was well rested and prepared, and eager to start my exploration. It had taken me long enough to get here.

The man toppled backwards and head first into my refuge as soon as I opened the door, his weapon drawn and tightly gripped, light blue eyes staring up at me. My sword was at his throat before he could move.

"You're a nuisance, Vilkas. Give me a single reason why I shouldn't kill you right here and now."

"I brought your supplies. You're gonna need them."

"Nobody would ever know it. The last guy who's been down here died 150 years ago."

He didn't move, lay still on his back and just stared with his pale, enervating gaze, his feet still outside of the room.

Pathetic bastard.

I removed the blade. "Get out of my eyes. Now."

"No."

I glared at him while he sat up and pushed himself to his feet. "It's not open to debate. Leave."

Now he stood, leaning against the doorframe. He didn't look me in the eyes.

"No. You either kill me, or I'll stay. I don't care what you say, I'm gonna keep you safe."

He knew exactly that I wouldn't kill him. I wasn't desperate enough to kill him. Just furious and determined not to let him get the upper hand again.

I took a deep breath. "Cool down, brother. _IIZ SLEN!"_

Vilkas would defrost cold, wet and with his wrists tied to the alchemy table. If a Falmer paid him a visit while I was gone – well, tough luck. At least he'd have a lot of time to think over and decide what was worse: to face me, or to face his brother and tell him that he let me down.

_Under deep. Below the dark. The hidden keep. Tower Mzark._

Closing the door behind me, I hummed my new mantra and looked around. A well preserved broad road, paved with smooth cobblestones, led from my hut out into the distance. Smaller alleys branched and curved away between blocks of buildings, others vanished from my sight between the hills of the undulating and rocky terrain. It was tempting just to follow this road, considering that it probably connected the most important buildings, but too many of those glowing mushrooms stood by its side, and the giant encased in a metal frame in the middle of a large place kept me away.

From the right I heard the gushing of a waterfall, and so I decided to follow the cave wall left of the entrance. It was as good a start for my exploration as any other direction. The landscape was rocky, rugged and dark enough to provide excellent cover, and I got past platforms with the typical Falmer huts and some buildings sticking to or built into the rocky walls unseen and, more important, unheard.

The Falmer gave me the creeps. So far, the place wasn't exactly overrun with them, but there were enough of them to keep me in constant alertness. It would be easy enough to overwhelm me if I was careless, and I had learned from painful experience that they weren't just mindless beasts. They were intelligent, able to work together and build traps, and they certainly had some kind of communication system between the various groups down here. In the worst case, a single corpse left behind could alert the whole population… something I wanted to avoid at all costs. And so I tried to sneak by, memorising landmarks on my way, searching for larger buildings in the distance.

Everything went fine for the first hours… probably, I had lost every sense of time in the meantime. It had been late afternoon when I entered the Alftand lift, but I didn't know how long I had slept and how long I had spent out here. But I became tired, the constant necessity to remain alert in this alien environment with its weird lighting and dark shadows exhausting.

Looking back the way I had come, then forwards where I still had to go, the curve of the cave wall barely visible, I sighed inwardly. It would really take weeks to get this done, especially as my slow creeping wasn't exactly efficient. On the other hand… the thought to stay down here for so long, to live amongst the Falmer without them knowing, to get to know this place like no one had known it before me for hundreds, perhaps thousands of years… this thought had something strangely appealing.

I always wanted a room for myself. Now I had a whole kingdom of my own.

But for now I had to turn back, and I decided to move away from the safety of the cave wall and explore another way.

It was a bad idea. An exceptionally bad idea.

Walls everywhere. Buildings everywhere. Incomprehensible metal constructions, gates that led nowhere and unclimbable rocky slopes everywhere. And in-between Falmer who heard every breath, Dwemer constructs who sprung to live to every careless sound and movement and the largest chaurus I had ever seen, black monstrosities that lurked freely in the shadows between the glowing mushrooms.

I had left more than one corpse behind in the meantime and suffered more than one wound and bruise myself, with enemies jumping at me out of dark corners or blocking a way I thought I had to go. Every time I prayed that the shrieks of dying Falmer and the rattle of collapsing automatons wouldn't bring the entirety of Blackreach's army on me. I called forth my wolf senses, felt the shifting in the air around me. The city became alert. They knew of the intruder. They weren't hunting me… not yet. But it wouldn't take long until they did.

I had to get out of here, but I was lost, completely and utterly lost. And when I finally dared to admit it to myself, it didn't matter at all any more which direction I took.

I tried to follow the sound of the waterfall I had already heard from my little hut. But it was hopeless, every sound echoed manifold through the cavern, reflected from walls and barriers and didn't give any hint of direction. And now I cowered hidden in a maze of metal pipes, the gurgling of running water everywhere around me, and the shadows _moved_. Every single one.

Don't panic. Running around aim- and purposeless would only get me killed faster.

I just had to find a lookout. Something high, the roof of one of the larger buildings, or one of the bridges that connected them high above the streets. And then I could only hope that the landmarks I had memorised looked the same from every direction.

It was in fact possible to sneak through a city full of enemies with inhuman sense of hearing, though painfully slow, moving from shadow to shadow and with long breaks in-between to cool down my own nerves and my environment. It was not possible to sneak through those buildings once inside. Ever-glowing lamps which probably hadn't stopped working since the disappearance of the Dwemer lit them brightly, and they were guarded and inhabited. Or at least the one I had chosen was, all three floors of it. I had to fight my way through, and I did so with desperate determination, shot and shouted and slashed, was hit by lightning strikes and crude poisoned sword blades, but I made it out alive.

If the Falmer didn't know I was there yet, they certainly knew it after the carnage I left behind. But it was worth the effort. I was over and over smeared with blood and gore, my head dizzy from the poison I couldn't neutralise fast enough, I limped from a nasty strike that had slipped by the dragonscales into my thigh, and my magicka was completely drained, but I found myself on a narrow metal bridge high above most of the buildings – and high above the main street, the street that would lead me directly back home.

Home. I had to smile at the thought. Strange how that little house in this unfamiliar, hostile land had become home in the few hours I had spent there. Especially considering that Vilkas was still waiting there for me, and he would not be amused.

The bridge became a ramp that led down to the ground level again, not too far from the street – and not too far from the metal Centurion I had already seen from the distance. Either I underestimated his mechanical senses or I overestimated my ability to sneak by, I didn't know… but it took only a single false step on my way down the hill and a pained hiss when the injured muscle was strained, and the giant broke free from the frame he was mounted in with the typical steamy hiss.

He stomped towards me with heavy steps, much faster than the first one I'd encountered with Farkas, and I couldn't back away quickly enough as the pebbles under my feet slid away and made me trip. I had no choice but to shout him down. The pressure of the vaporised water spread the wreckage over a large radius, and a small, razor-sharp fragment of Dwemer metal pierced its way through my armour and into my thigh - again. I cursed inwardly. Now it was adorned with two bleeding holes I could have no regards for. Not after the racket I had made. I ran down the street openly and as fast as I could, expecting an army of Falmer and chaurus to close down on me every second, and crashed through the door of my hut.

Vilkas stood with his back to me at the alchemy station, grinding something into a mortar when I stumbled through the entrance. He turned without a word and let his gaze wander from my head to my toes and back, took in my wrecked, blood-smeared appearance, and his eyebrows rose inquiringly while I could just stare at him – dumbfounded.

"Why are you… How did you…" I stuttered.

He didn't react to my incoherent stammering and held up three bottles. "Healing, magicka or antidote?"

The nerve this man had. I was shivering, waves of nausea were rolling through my stomach and I couldn't think straight any more. Whatever he had to say, it would have to wait.

Nothing was as tempting as my bedroll at the moment. I limped through the room, fell onto the stone platform and was already half asleep when I fumbled one of my own potions out of my pack and strapped off my pauldrons.

The last I heard before sleep claimed me was his lecture. "Leather strips stretch when they get wet, and ice turns to water when it melts, Qhourian. Perhaps you should consider these simple facts next time you try to take someone captive."

The last I felt were some additional pelts that were draped over my exhausted body.


	8. Into Blackreach

Vilkas sat in a crosslegged squat against the wall, a book in his lap. Did this man never sleep?

"You're still here."

He looked up hesitantly, then nodded at the platter placed on the finely chiselled sidetable beside my bed. I couldn't help it, but the apple and the strip of dried venison looked as if they had been  _ arranged _ .

"At least eat something before you run off again."

"Will you be gone when I come back?"

"No."

"Okay."

He mustn't think he could win this duel, not if stubbornness was the weapon of choice. And I could look at least as deadpan as he. I stood up and started to pack my knapsack with every single piece of equipment that seemed only remotely useful. And everything edible I could find.

I'd have to go on anyway sooner or later. Time to find a new place to set up camp.

I brought my supplies into the abandoned abode I had dispatched of its former inhabitants the day before. It wasn't as cosy as the little hut, and it was probably not as safe – but it would do, for a couple of nights. Or however I should call my sleeping periods down here.

After the hideous work to pile up all the corpses in a single room, I really needed a bath. Time to look for that mysterious waterfall and find out what lay behind it.

This time I followed the cave wall in the other direction, turned right from the exit to Alftand. The gushing of water soon became louder, and there were much less buildings in this area of Blackreach and also less of the glowing mushrooms, more shadows than light around me. I knew I was right when a spray of humidity hit my face after I crawled over a narrow ledge - before me lay a small lake, the water shimmering cyan and opaque in the unearthly glow, filled by a stream falling down from an opening in the cave wall high above its surface, the effluent another fall deep into an abyss of foam and sharp rocks.

Perhaps I should persuade Vilkas to take a bath with me. He liked to live on edges, after all.

I didn't have to convince him, though. As I stood naked under the lukewarm shower of the falling water and rinsed blood, dirt and various kinds of indescribable gore from my skin, his head surfaced suddenly behind the foamy curtain of spraying water, gasping for breath. He had found the pond before me.

Holy. Kyne.

We stared at each other, and I felt a small knot of dread build in my stomach, hearing nothing but the water gushing down around me and my own heavy breathing.

Until I realised that his face had darkened into the colour of the crimson leaves he held pressed against his chest like a bouquet, and until I sensed the waves of alarm and bewilderment leaking out from him. He was much more surprised than I. And he wasn't only embarrassed – he was terrified.

"Nothing you haven't seen before, Vilkas." My grin was mirthless.

The strange plants fell from his hands, he opened his mouth once, twice, and I saw his throat move, but nothing came out of it. Or perhaps it did, and I just didn't hear it, my brain fully stretched to comprehend what I saw.

The base of his neck, the hollow between his collarbones… it was a mess of scars, torn skin and crumpled tissue. I had never seen it before, always hidden behind armour or fabric, but I knew at once what it was. Only the fangs of a beast could leave such wounds. These scars were my mark on him.

I stared at him, at his throat, wide eyed, hearing nothing but my own heartbeat until he dove away with a sudden movement and vanished from my sight.

We had marked each other, severely and permanently. And sometimes, stubbornness just for the sake of stubbornness was more destructive than anything else. Sitting at the edge of the lake, I didn't have to wait long for him to appear and settle beside me.

"You ogled," I said with a small grin.

"No," he answered straightfaced, "I watched out for you. There are chaurus on the other side."

I turned to him, drew my knees to my chest. "I wanna make a deal. You stop hitting me, and I stop shouting at you."

"Why?" There it was, the cautious smirk, the small challenge he couldn't resist. Whoever made the first step lost the game. Just that this wasn't a game any more, and perhaps it was time to start a new one.

"I need my strength for more important things than to fight you."

"Will you stop healing me?"

"No. It's just a friggin' restoration spell, get over with it."

He swallowed. "At least those magicka potions won't go to waste."

"If you get injured so badly that I need them, you're doing it wrong anyway." A grin flashed up, in both our faces, but we hid it before it could evolve into laughter.

We sat in silence for a while, but it was an almost comfortable silence. Almost. Now I also heard the clicking of chitinous pincers in the distance. He really watched out for me.

"Why are you still here, Vilkas?"

His face was emotionless again.

"I made a promise to keep you safe."

"You've broken promises before. And I sent you away."

"This is one I'm gonna keep. I made it to you, and you're the last one who's gonna make me break it."

"And what did you promise your brother?"

"Farkas? Nothing. He wanted me to. But… I told him it wasn't necessary." His gaze was piercing. "You're more than just my brother's spouse, Qhourian. I'm not here because he wants me to. And now you owe me a question."

I braced myself. "Okay."

"Why didn't you kill me?"

"You want the short or the long, complicated version?"

"Both. The short one first."

"There's none." My grin was twisted. I felt as if I talked to myself, or to a mirror image. It wasn't important if we hurt each other with the things we'd say – only now, only once and never again. More important was that they were finally voiced and put into words, something we both could try to  _ understand _ .

"You've no idea how often I've asked myself that question. And if I had met you before Falkreath, I would have killed you without a second thought."

"But then you didn't. When you could have, you didn't."

"You suffered so beautifully, it would have been a waste. To see you with the ring… it was glorious. I watched you for hours, and everything I ever wanted to do to you didn't even come close to  _that_ . When I left the prison, I wanted to leave you there and never look back." I watched him curiously, waited for a reaction, but his features didn't even twitch.

"And again you didn't."

"Farkas was there. He had followed me, unasked, and... it made things complicated. It would have killed him if I had let you die. It was your brother who saved you, Vilkas. His love for you, and my love for him. Never forget that. Without him, you'd be long dead."

"Did you ever regret it? That you took the ring?"

I propped my chin on the arm that lay on my knees, my voice quiet and calm. "That I took the ring and played Hircine's game that made me part of the pack? No. Never. That I took the ring  _from you_ ? Yes. Every time you made me wanna kill you. And even more every time I fought with Farkas and we failed each other because of you. But he was always there, he never allowed me to run away, and we went through all this together. Farkas and his godsdamned trust."

"He trusted me?"

"No. Yes. I don't know. He trusted  _me_ . He knew what I didn't want to see: that your death wouldn't solve anything. He always believed in me, that I'd find a way to deal with you that would be more than just avoidance and suppression. And I always knew that he would be there when I did. His only weapon against… all this. My hate, and my self-pity, and my own cowardice."

"He isn't here now."

"He has taught me enough to leave me alone with you." I gave him a small smirk. He didn't return it.

"You could have forced him to choose. He would have chosen you."

"It would have hurt him."

"I didn't care what it would mean for him when I tried the same."

This was it. Now we were at the point where I could - where I had to ask the question. He wouldn't hedge it. Perhaps he wanted to get it out as much as I. Explain and understand, and then see what would happen.

"I want to know why you did it." I was proud how firm I uttered the question.

His voice was flat. "It was how to hurt you most. I wanted to break you."

"But... why?"

"You want the short or the long, complicated version?"

"I want the truth. Nothing with you is short and uncomplicated."

"And with you neither."

He became quiet, his gaze fixed on the opaque, glittering surface of the lake.

"Vilkas?"

He winced, only a small jerk of his shoulders, and turned further away. For a moment, I expected him to jump up and run.

"You were just a whore," he said finally, his voice low. "A weakling and a stray. But you held all this power, and they betrayed me for you."

"Who  _betrayed_ you?"

"All of them. Farkas and Kodlak, the Circle, the whelps. And my own beast."

I wanted to object, declare him insane - but I held back. He believed what he said. Or, at least, he had once believed it. I wanted to know his truth, and no one but he could tell me.

When I didn't react, he shifted and searched my eyes.

"You usurped the Companions." He shook his head, his lips twitching when he saw my aghast expression. "You changed us, from one day to the next. I had tried so long to make us what we ought to be, to claim the respect we deserved and to change what we were - glorified sellswords and doomed beasts. And then you came, and suddenly we had a new purpose. The dragonslayers of Skyrim. Famed, respected and honoured, with the Dragonborn in our midst - and nothing more than your tools. When you called, everything else had to stand back."

He watched me expectantly, as if he waited for me to defend myself. I remembered how incredibly thankful I had been for the support of the Companions, back then when I had no idea what was waiting for me. For their sheer enthusiasm that made everything look so much easier. Vilkas had not once joined me as I worked through the Greybeard's map. I never thought about it, there were enough of them that were eager to do so.

When I remained quiet, he spoke on.

"But you weren't only Dragonborn, you were also part of the pack. Dustman's Cairn and everything afterwards – it shouldn't have happened. You knew too much, and what happened between you and Farkas... it was wrong."

"Nothing happened between us, Vilkas. You know that."

"Of course it did. You never let anyone come as close as my brother. Not even Aela or Athis. His wolf approved you, and the Circle was okay with it. As if you belonged to us. Aela and Skjor were ecstatic. They thought about offering you the blood, even back then."

"If they had asked, I would have declined."

"Would you now?" He shrugged. "They only didn't because Farkas made them promise not to. He didn't want to draw you into this mess that we were. But he pledged his life to you. I told him not to be silly, that it was just the curse of Hircine's magic, that he couldn't align his life to you just because his beast told him to. But he didn't listen. Said there was more, that you needed him and that he owed you, that he had fallen in love and that he'd never tell you."

He mirrored my position now, knees drawn to his chest and his arms clenched around his shins. We both sat curled together, as if we had to protect ourselves, but we also faced each other.

"It was something only between him and me, Vilkas. We would have worked it out if you had let us. We  _did_ work it out when we finally could. It was hard and took a long time... but we did, and there was nothing magical about it. Just he and I, no Hircine involved. Your brother has a right to fall in love."

"Of course he has. Of course I wanted to see him happy. But not with you. Not with someone who'd never return what he had to offer, not with a spoiled brat that only used him, exploited his strength and his kindness and would dump him when he wasn't useful any more."

"You really believed that?"

"Well, you did, didn't you? When you came back from the Greybeards. And after he dumped his daughters to go with you to Labyrinthian. You were so full of yourself, and still he was full of understanding."

I blushed and hoped he wouldn't see it in the eerie light. After the fight against Nahfahlaar I had been an ass, and still he had been there when I needed him again. "You were afraid for him."

"Yes, that too. I didn't want him to throw his life away. But he refused to listen. Instead he broke his promise for you and left me alone with my beast, and the Circle was okay with that too. Even Kodlak told him he has to make his own decisions."

"Before, he did what  _you_ told him."

"Perhaps. He always fared well with it. But now he started to ask questions we had long answered – for Morthal, for his beast, for his future. With you, he found new answers that didn't include me."

"He didn't want this, you know? It hurt him that you didn't want to understand him. I can't believe you trusted him so little. That all this boils down to him."

"It doesn't." He clenched his teeth. "He betrayed me and I hated him for it, but in the end, I would have lived with his choices, no matter how irrational they were. What I couldn't live with was that you had ensnared them all. Not only him, but Kodlak and the Circle, the whelps - and my own beast."

"I had no dealings with your beast."

"You have no idea." He snorted a bitter laughter. "We're close, Qhourian. We're twins and pack-brothers. Farkas chose you – as his mate, as his partner, as the woman he wanted to spend his life with. Call it as you will, but you made him happy – even back then. Happy and desperate, and we all knew that it was ultimate. When something like that happens... you really think it lets the other unfazed?"

"What does that mean?"

"It means that my wolf approved his brother's choice. He accepted you into the pack. Without reserve. It was one more reason to fight him - and one more fight I lost."

He took a deep breath, taking in my stunned expression, and spoke on, his voice blank and merciless. He laid himself bare to me, and he didn't care any more how I'd react. "Before he sent us off, Kodlak deprived me of my positions. I wasn't Master-of-Arms and his successor any more when we left for that job, and it was your fault. He wanted me to prove myself. And during that fight, when you got injured and I could smell your blood and your pain, my wolf nearly won. He wanted to protect you. But I couldn't let him, I had to prove that I was stronger, I couldn't lose against an  _instinct_ . It was your fault that I was too distracted to notice that that guy wasn't dead yet. And then you saved me at the expense of the child. It was only the last straw. You were so weak, you were the reason why we failed, but you still had the power to decide who lived and who died."

"I always thought... that you lost control. That it was more your wolf than you."

He bared his teeth in a snarl full of self-loathing. "No. I won. I broke you both. You should know by now that no beast would ever be so cruel." He jerked his head away, stared over the lake. His next words were barely audible. "He only took over when I realised that winning was worthless."

Everything he had told me… it didn't evoke the revulsion and anger it would have evoked only weeks earlier, that I should have felt after this glimpse into the abyss of his mind.

I always thought that Vilkas' aversion – his hatred, even if it took me far too long to see it as what it was – was something irrational, unfounded and unprovoked. Our relationship had declined over many months, and for me, Farkas' scrappy explanations were enough to explain his behaviour. I thought he was fickle and sulky and a presumptuous jerk who lashed out against me because he didn't have his brother all for himself any more, because I had these mysterious powers and because he needed a convenient culprit to blame for his own misery.

It needed his own dry, thorough, nearly analytical explanation to understand what was really going on in that twisted brain of his. He didn't palliate his reasons, and there was indeed a certain bizarre logic behind his accusations. He really fought against and felt abandoned by everyone that was important to him, and according to this logic, his attempt to get rid of me was the only way to save himself.

But the way he had answered my question also told me something else. He had laid his soul bare before me, all the fights he fought, all the mistakes he made, but it was neither justification nor an apology or a plea for judgement. We had long gotten beyond all this, had broken the vicious circles that held us in their grip – his of blame and violence, mine of self-blame and cowardice. We could take these unsentimental peeks into our abysses only because we had managed to crawl out of them. Back then, he would have never been able to give an account like the one he had presented me now. It told me that it had gone at least as far as I.

All that was left now was to come to terms with each other.

The silence between us built, but the cave around us seemed strangely alive, reminding me of the here and now. The chaurus clicked in the distance, the moist air smelled of mould, wet soil and the metallic tang of the minerals in the water, the occasional faint shriek or the rolling of pebbles down a slope revealed the manifold, dangerous life that surrounded us.

"I will not leave you alone here, Qhourian," he said after a long pause. "You can tell me to leave, and I will... but then you will have to find someone to take my place." His gaze wandered over the part of the strange, otherworldly panorama we could overlook.

"You gave me a promise."

"Yes. But I won't force you to take it. I forced you once too often." His index painted circles into the lose sand at his feet. "I made it more for me than for you, and I used it to press you. But it's worthless if you don't want it. That much I have learned."

"What else have you learned, Vilkas?"

"A lot. A lot about myself, and I'm not finished yet. A lot about my brother, and I'm sure he has some more surprises up his sleeve. And... I think I learned a bit about you. Not much... you're still a mystery to me. But at least I know now that I don't understand you."

"You're curious," I said with an incredulous chuckle.

The hint of a smile tugged at his lips. "I guess I am."

"You think we can use that? Is it... healthy?"

"Everything is healthier than what we had before."

Vilkas' face closed down into a frown when I pushed myself to my feet and climbed the small hill I had crossed on my way here. From the top, I had a marvellous overview over the landscape, even if the eerie lighting distorted distances and perspective. This undertaking we had started was  _huge_ . Lots of time to get to know each other. Lots of time to prove ourselves. For the first time I really believed that we could make this work.

I looked back at him. He stared at me, not even trying to hide his nervousness.

"I'll warn you when I'm gonna heal you, okay?"

His smile flashed up, made his face open and nearly boyish. "Let's go and find your Scroll."

* * *

"Qhourian? Are you okay?"

Vilkas knelt in front of me, a concerned expression on his face. We had just left another of these tall, impressive buildings that all looked the same after another fruitless search. "You're as pale as death. What's the matter?"

I groaned, my head buried in my palms. "It's nothing. Just a headache. Didn't sleep well." I scrambled to my feet and descended the stairs. "Let's go."

"Wait." He reached out, but he didn't try to hold me back. We never touched each other unless it was inevitable. But now he closed the distance between us, dispatching his gauntlet, and I flinched back from his cool palm on my forehead.

"What are you doing?"

"You've a fever," he said matter-of-factly.

"Bullshit," I barked, "werewolf, remember? We're immune to diseases."

"Yes, immune to infections. Not immune to collapse due to exhaustion. You haven't really slept for days now, and neither have you eaten reasonably."

He was right, only the thought of our dreary diet down here made me choke, and I didn't sleep well. Even worse than usually. Every time I closed my eyes I dreamt of the woods of Falkreath, of a fresh breeze smelling of pines and wet earth and of the moons guiding my hunt. I wondered if his wolf was as restless as mine, down here in the bowels of the earth.

"Sorry," I lowered my head, didn't dare to look him in the eyes. "It's just the stench. These Falmer reek, it makes me sick. A kingdom for a breath of fresh air." I forced a grin on my face. "And another one for a piece of dried horker instead of dried venison."

"Should we go back? To Alftand? Take a break, perhaps?"

"Gods, no! Not back, please. We've gone so far… surely this blasted tower must be somewhere here, doesn't it?"

I heard the despair in my voice and read in Vilkas' expression that it didn't escape him, but he didn't argue.

Blackreach had lost its fascination in the meantime… over the days and weeks we had spent down here the initial excitement had receded to a dull weariness, and that I had lost every sense of time drove me mad. The eerie light never changed, no day and night, and although we had found a rhythm of more or less regular sleeping periods, I had the feeling I was trapped in a bubble of timelessness. Nothing ever changed, nothing would ever change. No wonder the Falmer – and probably the Dwemer too – had gone mad. People weren't made for this kind of life.

But despite the enervating tediousness we searched thoroughly through every building that resembled only vaguely a tower, fought our way through hordes of Falmer and their pet bugs, just to leave empty-handed every single friggin' time. If only Septimus' directions had been a bit less vague. We had also given up on keeping semi-permanent camps. When our supplies dwindled and our packs became lighter, we just carried all our stuff with us and slept where we were when we both were too tired to go on.

The only distraction was Vilkas' search for those strange plants, a variety of the nirnroots we knew from the upper world, just that they emitted a strange, crimson glow and only grew down here. They had been the reason why the deceased alchemist I had found at the beginning had come to Blackreach in the first place. Vilkas had taken his journal and gathered these plants now, as if he wanted to take over this research.

That evening, while I still chewed on a stale, dry biscuit and tried to force it down with the mineral, lukewarm water that was all we found here – a kingdom for a taste of fresh, cold, sweet water! - Vilkas spread our map of Skyrim on a large table and marked it with crosses, symbols and lines while skimming through the notes he had taken since the beginning of our journey.

"What are you doing?" I asked curiously, putting the food away. I only ate anyway because I had to, not because I was hungry. The crumbly bar of cereals, nuts, dried berries and honey tasted of nothing, and every bite seemed to grow into a choking lump the longer I chewed it.

He didn't turn, just looked over his shoulder, his forehead frowned in concentration but with a rare smile on his face.

"I try to find out where we are. If this takes much longer, we will have to find a way out anyway. My enthusiasm for dry venison is waning as well," he chuckled, but then his eyebrows creased in concern. "You should try to rest, I'll keep watch."

He was worried, and it felt weird. "Wake me in a few hours," I mumbled. As if we knew how long a few hours were. But I also felt safe when I turned to the wall and tried to fall asleep.

We had become familiar with each other in the meantime, perhaps more familiar than ever before. It was inevitable when two people spent days and weeks so close together. Sometimes I even meant to feel a bit of the peace we had made before my initiation, although I still didn't trust this feeling. That peace had been treacherous as well, nothing more than a brittle truce.

We were still very cautious with each other, especially when it came to personal matters… and nearly everything that connected us – the Companions, his brother, our travels, how we had spent the last months – was a personal matter. Many open wounds, sore and raw, that neither of us wanted to touch carelessly, especially after our outbreak of sincerity at the lake. Perhaps we both sensed that it had started something, that something was in the making that was too fragile to be disturbed by bluntness.

I was grateful for his cautiousness.

But we worked well together. Surprisingly well, I had to admit. Somehow I had expected that once we were used to each other, fighting alongside Vilkas would be similar to Farkas. I couldn't have been more wrong, their fighting styles were as different as everything else. Farkas was a born protector. He put himself always into the midst of the fight,  _made_ himself the centre of the fight to draw the attention of our foes, to keep them away from me and give me room for my own attacks. Vilkas was always ahead of me as well and took the brunt of the onslaught when we had to fight more than one enemy at a time. But his strategy was more to harm them as fast and severe as possible than to prevent that they harmed us. A killer, not a protector. 

As a shield-brother, he was much more demanding than Farkas, but he also proved on more than one occasion that I could trust his attentiveness. Fighting with him was fun and effective. I had never seen the twins fight together, not in a serious battle, but now I could imagine that they were indeed an unstoppable, fearsome duo.

Next morning, after another restless night, Vilkas took the lead, rushed ahead into the near darkness of a region that didn't look as if it contained anything worth exploring.

"Hey," I yelled after him, "where are you going?"

"Surprise!" He grinned back at me, but he seemed absolutely certain where he was heading. I was too tired to argue, for once glad just to be led and not to have to think on my own. I followed him for hours while he compared his maps over and over again, the one of Skyrim and the crude sketch of Blackreach he had drawn himself. Somehow he seemed to have a sense of direction and of the distance we covered that I lacked entirely. When finally a round pavilion with an iron gate came into view, he nearly ran towards it. It looked exactly like the entrance to the Alftand elevator at the surface, just a bit smaller, a broad metal tube vanishing above it into the cave's glittering ceiling.

Vilkas turned the lever and stood bowed in the now open door to the room with the big, circular platform.

"After you, M'Lady," he said with a smile, "welcome to Mzinchaleft."

Daylight! Fresh air! Drizzling sleet! Low hanging clouds and an icy wind that went through marrow and bone!

It was glorious.

"Vilkas, you're a bloody genius," I shrieked when I ran out into the open, shining with happiness, holding my face upwards into the wet snowflakes. He still stood in the narrow dome that concealed the lift on the surface, and… he had the look on his face that he also wore when he dealt with his nieces in Morthal. I didn't mind. My fatigue was blown away with the first deep breath I took. The sun was already setting, but it didn't matter… just to know what time of day it was seemed to give me back a good chunk of my mental stability.

Underground we had gone steadily westwards and crossed a good part of the distance back to Morthal, and we came out in the mountains not far from the road we had taken on our way to Alftand. We found a sheltered place between some rocks to make camp, and when we had settled at a small fire, I sighed with relief. And I outright refused the piece of that wretched dried meat we had eaten for weeks now when Vilkas pulled the rations from his pack.

"No. Not tonight."

He didn't say a word, but he put it away, didn't eat it himself either.

"You know what I want, tomorrow in Dawnstar?" I sighed wistfully, not waiting for his answer. "Grilled leeks and baked potatoes. With garlic sauce." The thought alone watered my mouth.

He chuckled. "Sounds good. But I think I'd prefer… an apple pie." He closed his eyes and groaned in exaggerated bliss. "Or a sweetroll. You think they have sweetrolls in Dawnstar?"

"You always had a sweet tooth," I grinned, "both you and Farkas. I wonder what Tilma fed you when you were small."

"Mmmh. Tilma's sweetrolls… they're the best."

He was relaxed, and he had let his guard down. His face showed a longing that was clearly not only for Tilma's treats.

"Vilkas?" Halflidded, unreadable eyes looked at me. "She'd be happy to stuff you up with her treats until they grow out of your ears."

"You think so?"

I nodded. "I'm sure." A small smile crept into his features.

When the clouds finally broke up and Masser poured his light down on us, I couldn't and didn't want to hold back any longer. Vilkas didn't move, but he watched me closely as I took off my armour until I stood before him, barefooted and clad only in an old undertunic.

"Join me?" My gaze pierced into his. I felt his urge. Smelled his desire to give in and the struggle he fought against the restrictions he had imposed on himself. And I wanted to run with him. When he rose to his knees, his hands already at the buckles of his pauldrons, I gave him a baretoothed grin and darted away into the darkness.

I let her free and she took over with a happy yelp, the heat coiling at the bottom of my spine easing away all the strains and tensions that had built up during the endless days in the glowing darkness. I had missed her, I had missed the feeling of being one with my beast, and the moons guided us on our joyous run through the snow-covered landscape, me and the man-wolf chasing behind. We took on a pair of frost trolls, hunted and fought and fed, each of us with his own prey and nevertheless together. I tore through flesh and bones until I was sated, and then I ran, the pent up energy releasing in a frantic, aimless chase. I tried to wear myself out, tried to wear her out, hunted and killed just for the game and pursued my own shadow.

Until his howl stopped me, the silhouette of the wolf standing proud on top of a hill, his monstrous head thrown back, muzzle and claws pointing to the stars. He waited for my answer, and when he got it he dropped to all fours and stalked towards me, like the predator that he was, slowly gaining speed. Deep, guttural growls came out of his throat, but he didn't want a hunt. I wasn't prey.

He wanted… I didn't know what he wanted, and I made a run for it. But he gave chase, followed my trail close enough to let me sense him near, to hear his panting and smell his scent, and I knew he could have overwhelmed me easily if he wanted. But when the attack came, the tackle from behind that sent me tumbling and rolling down a narrow hill, it came unexpected, and he was over me in an instant. Nearly as large as Farkas he locked me easily under his weight, ignored my thrashing and writhing, but he was careful not to use his claws, careful not to hurt me.

I would not submit, and I wasn't afraid, ready to run although he used his fangs to keep me down. But his smell was confusing, not hunter, not mate, just… I didn't know. I couldn't read him. His teeth didn't hurt me, pressing in only so hard that I felt them, not even piercing the fur, but he towered over me and held me down with all his weight and his strength, as if he expected me to fight back any moment.

But I didn't feel the urge to attack him. And when he released me from his bite and stood above me, golden gazes locked in a silent struggle, I lay still and relaxed, let him sniff my neck, nuzzle his snout against mine and lick the troll blood from the side of my face. Until he was suddenly gone again, vanished into the darkness with a fast, powerful leap.

When I returned to our camp, sated and tired, he was already there, curled inside his bedroll into a ball as near to the fire as possible. It wasn't really the climate to camp outside without a tent, but I'd rather freeze than spend the night anywhere but here under the stars. I knew he didn't sleep, but I left him alone. I was warmed by the flames, my furs and the lingering excitement of the change running through my veins, watched the clouds drift past the stars and the moons, and eventually I heard him whimper through his restless dreams. When I finally fell asleep myself I dreamt of pine woods, the wind in my fur, a white stag and of my mate.

During the short trip to Dawnstar, Vilkas was considerate, but distant like he had always been. Nothing had changed. The wolf had overwhelmed me, and I did not understand it, but he hadn't threatened me. Vilkas sensed my calmness, and I felt his relief. It was just something else that remained unsaid between us, something in abeyance. He didn't try to hurt me, and for the moment, nothing else was important.

We had to to restock our supplies, and the trip gained us the very much needed diversion in our diet, a fast march through the wintry landscape and another cherished night out in the open, but apart from that it was annoying. Dawnstar was depressing and cold, its citizens inhospitable and cranky. And resentful. I had only been here a couple of times on jobs for the Companions, and now one of them fell back on me.

Once I had beaten some common sense and decency into the mushy brain of the owner of the local quicksilver mine, on behalf of his divorced wife - who owned the competing mine at the other end of the village and after he had harassed her for months. I had been here with Torvar, and Leigelf even got to chose who of us he preferred to beat him to clump. He had chosen me, and he had not forgotten the lesson, even if he didn't learn anything from it.

Vilkas was at the apothecary while I haggled with the inn-keeper for rations and a few bottles of mead – and he seriously refused to sell me anything unless I rented a room. No way, I'd certainly not spend a whole precious night in a stuffy room when Blackreach was waiting for me.

The man was suddenly there, the stench of old sweat that mingled with stone dust and ale alerting me before I even saw him. I leant tired and annoyed against the wooden counter when two hands propped themselves left and right of me on the bar, trapping me between them.

"My, if that isn't the Companion bitch," he drawled into my ear. I froze, suppressing the reflex to ram my elbows into his kidneys, turn and shout him through the window. I didn't want trouble, not when I only wanted to leave this dreary place as fast as possible.

The inn-keeper who watched us with pinched features. He wouldn't intervene – inn-keepers never intervened into quarrels between their guests, not until their furniture got smashed up.

"She doesn't want to stay for the night?" he said, grinning at the keep. "You know... word is those Companions all live together in one big hall. Wouldn't you think she'd love a bit of privacy?"

"Leigelf," I pressed out, "take your dirty hands off me, or they'll not be able to hold a pickaxe ever again."

He didn't move a single inch, only bowed down his head. His breath was moist and reeking on my neck, sweat glistening on his nearly bald head. "You need to soften up a bit, Companion," he whispered. "We just want to keep you company. Don't we, Thoring?"

"Like the last time I _kept you company_?" I snarled.

"Oh, but it's not like last time. Now you're all alone, you're cold and hungry and have no one to keep the nightmares away. Something's in the air, you know? No one sleeps well nowadays. We can help you through that, as the gentlemen that we are."

Thoring looked more than uncomfortable, and had enough when I felt his left hand sliding over my hip. Gripping his wrist, I pulled the dagger from my belt when his disgusting presence was suddenly gone. Vilkas had taken him in a headlock, his forearm pressing into his throat, and yanked his arm from my grip. He let out a pained, gurgling sound and struggled weakly as he was dragged out of the door without a word.

When I left the inn, Vilkas had thrown him down the stairs and stood above him, the tip of his sword at his throat. He would impale himself with a single false motion.

"Apologise," he growled.

Leigelf remained quiet, his gaze flickering full of hate to me. Vilkas placed the heel of his boot on the thumb of his right hand and shifted his weight. The crunch of the breaking bone was drowned out by a scream that was cut short when a drop of blood ran down the miner's neck.

"Leave it, Vilkas," I said sharply.

Vilkas moved his foot from his victim's hand, but he didn't remove his sword.

"Apologise."

Leigelf lifted the other hand, the only movement he dared to make. "Okay okay," he cried, "I'm sorry, okay?"

Vilkas took a step back, but he held his sword ready. A cruel smirk played around his lips. "Get out of my eyes."

When Leigelf had stumbled to his feet and run around a corner, holding his injured hand, and Vilkas turned with a satisfied smirk to me, I punched him in the chest. "You think I can't deal with such vermin on my own?"

He furrowed his brows into a frown. "Of course you can. But you shouldn't have to."

"And what impression does it make when I have to be saved from a piece of skeevershit like that?"

Now his frown showed genuine confusion. "He touched you, Qhourian. He had his dirty hands on you. You really care what he _thinks_? He made that pretty clear already."

My anger dissolved and I lowered my head. Of course I didn't care. I just didn't want to be pampered, and least of all by him. On the other hand, I wondered how I'd have reacted if he had done nothing at all.

"You would have done the same," Vilkas said curtly.

I cocked my head at him. "Yep. But from me, it would have sufficed to _threaten_ him with broken bones."

He shot me a smirk as he turned to the inn. Thoring stood in the open door and looked as if he wanted to get rid of us as soon as possible. "We need supplies," Vilkas said, pointing at me. "You will sell us whatever she wanted for whatever she offered. Understood?"

Sometimes Vilkas being an ass was pretty convenient.

We descended back into the depths of Blackreach with new determination. More ruins, more Falmer, chaurus and machines, but this time it took only a few days and some more fruitless searches through long abandoned buildings until a new landmark caught our eyes. A giant sphere hanging from a massive metal chain led us to the a part of the city that looked suspiciously like the centre of all of Blackreach. It loomed over it with a bright, golden glow, shimmering like a false moon. The vast complex of buildings was enclosed by a wall thrice my height, sitting on top of a hill and overlooking the surrounding area like a castle.

And here, in the centre of this kingdom where we expected it least, we found people. Not only degenerated Snow Elves, but real people. Nords, Imperials, even some Redguards and Elves. Men, women and children, dead eyes in sickly pale faces that hadn't seen the sun for years – or never. Clad in rags, but armed. Broken enough to be armed by their masters.

Servants and slaves to the Falmer, held like cattle. Obedient like cattle. Their death by our hands was no release, and our death by their hands would have changed nothing. Not for them.

The only entrance to the large courtyard was a huge gate, the gate-wings long fallen from their hinges, but it was guarded. Large men, better fed than the others, unarmoured but armed with rusty maces and dented blades. It should have made me suspicious that they guarded the inside of the gate, that they were there to prevent escape, not intrusion. But I was too shocked to see these familiar faces all of a sudden, too convinced we had found an enclave of human life, forgotten and forsaken for the gods knew how long… I just wanted to speak with them, and they caught me completely off guard.

They attacked on sight as if they had waited for me, shrieking in the strange, monotonous language of their masters while Vilkas jumped out of his cover and to my side. We backed away into a corner of the courtyard as fast as we could, and then they were upon us, so many of them, wave after wave of emotionless faces and frail bodies. Human faces, bare of any remains of humanity. Their order was to eliminate us, and they'd do what they were ordered to please their masters, tear us apart with their bare hands if necessary… or die trying. So many, pouring out of the buildings, an endless stream of hopelessness.

But there were Falmer hiding between them, archers, their arrows dripping with poison, but unreachable for us under the onslaught of their minions. They didn't care whom they hit to get through to us, people writhing in poison-induced agony at our feet, arrows flying, deflected, hitting others with dull thuds… until one of them hit me, pierced its way through my pauldron and into my shoulder.

Vilkas' greatsword held the onslaught at bay while I fumbled the antidote from my belt, but there were too many, hands grabbing, rusty knives and crude clubs bashing at us, clawlike fingers holding my wrist before I could take the flagon to my mouth.

They were too many. I jerked violently out of the grip.

_ "FUS RO DAH!" _

Silence, at least for a few seconds, the foul liquid extinguishing the dizziness in my head and numbing the pain that flowed from the wound through my veins. Vilkas drew me upstairs, away from the masses, to a higher, better defendable position.

And then I heard it, and I couldn't believe what I heard – the heavy flaps of leathery wings, a familiar roar, the stench of sulphur and molten stone, the earthshattering impact.

A dragon, trapped a mile beneath the sky where he belonged. Instead he was sated with the heat of the earth, glowing red and orange like a stream of lava, ready to unleash his fury and his fire upon us. I didn't know where he came from all of a sudden, if I had summoned or awoken him, but the disturbance of his age-old sleep obviously annoyed him. Within seconds the courtyard was entirely depopulated, the army of our enemies either blasted into heaps of smouldering flesh or fled behind the massive doors of the buildings. Only the archers on top of the wall remained, but now I had room to take care of them while Vilkas jumped into the fight with the beast.

The battle was short, but frantic. The dragon was trapped between the buildings, he didn't have enough space to spread his wings or manoeuvre his gigantic body to his liking, and it wasn't hard to stay behind him, out of reach of fangs and claws, and attack from relative safety.

While already collapsing he released a last furious, fiery breath, filling the courtyard with reeking smoke. I nearly suffocated while his soul found me, but Vilkas waited, coughing and choking himself, and dragged me out through the gate and down to the river until we were sure no one was following us.

"Gods," I panted, lying spread on my back, completely drained, "where did that thing come from?"

"No idea." Vilkas collapsed beside me after he had filled his waterskin. "Seems they follow you everywhere."

I snatched it from his hands before he could empty it completely. "I hope not."


	9. Silent City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q and V are talking. Just talking. And kicking Falmer asses, of course.  
> Sorry for the delay.

"You're green."

I was swallowing convulsively the saliva that gathered in my mouth, fighting the waves that churned through my stomach. Damned poison, and the foul water had only made it worse. I was too tired to move, even knowing that the nausea would be better if I got up. The adrenaline of the fight had resolved into complete exhaustion, my limbs glued to the ground as if they were filled with lead. I'd just stay here, stare at the ceiling of the cave that looked so surprisingly like a star-spangled sky and wait until the fine dust in the air had buried me.

If Vilkas would just let me. I managed to turn my head. He lay motionless on his back like me, his sword beside him.

"I'm fine."

"Of course you are. Suits you, that colour."

"Ass."

"May I ask you a question?"

"We gotta get going."

"No. I need a rest."

" _You_ need a rest?"

Now he turned his head to me. The corners of his mouth twitched. "Yeah. I'm tired."

Vilkas was _never_ tired, and if he was, he'd never admit it. When he suggested a rest, it was only because it was reasonable and we had to pace ourselves.

I propped myself on my elbows, my head dizzy. I _felt_ green, but it would be better when I was up and doing something to distract me. He was just pampering me. "No, you're not."

A chortle escaped him. He had cushioned his head on his forearm and didn't look as if he was going to move any time soon. "How does it feel to devour the soul of a dragon?"

I frowned at him, fighting myself to my feet. "I don't devour them, that's disgusting. And now let's go."

He turned his head to me, grinning. "Well, you look as if you were digesting it right now. Tell me. What do you do with them?"

"My Scroll is waiting in there." I made a few steps towards the gate and heard him scramble to his feet behind me.

"Yeah. Since a few thousand years. I'm curious, Qhourian."

My head tilted into my neck, I looked up to the palace. It was a magnificent complex of several buildings that were connected by the broad wall and stone bridges high above the ground. Three enormous towers rose from the corners towards the ceiling, the metal doors, tubes and roofs gleaming in the warm golden light of the globe. It was so different from the cold blue glow of the mushrooms we had spent the last weeks in that it alone made the place feel homey.

It was far from that, though, billows of black smoke still rising from the charred corpses of men and mer when I passed the threshold. I searched through the remains of the dragon when Vilkas jogged through the gate.

"The only description I have is from you." He only arched an eyebrow. Many people had asked me this question, and I never liked to answer it. It was something I barely understood myself. "You remember when you explained to me how soulstones work?"

He nodded, lifting the skull to give me access to a few tiny scales that gleamed in a fiery orange.

"Well, that's how it is. I guess."

"You take their souls like a soulstone?"

I nodded, stuffing the scales into my pack. They were pretty, perhaps Eorlund could make some trinkets from them. Dragonscale jewellery would be something really exclusive. "In a way. You said that a soul is some kind of energy, and that's how they feel."

"But aren't they unique?"

"No. Yes, of course, they're individual souls. But once they're dead, only power is left. They're no personalities any more. I guess the same happens with the souls of people who get trapped in black soulgems."

"But you take them into yourself."

I turned on my heels, trying to decide where to start our search. Several entrances led inside the buildings – or tracts of the same – but none directly into one of the towers at the corners of the courtyard. Those were our goal. "Yes, but they don't become a part of me. They're far too alien. And strong, at the beginning I was afraid they would change me. But they haven't, not really."

"Let's take that one." Vilkas pointed at a metal door that led into the largest building, an enormous complex of grey walls that filled nearly half of the space inside the walls. It was also the door most of the people had fled through when the dragon came. "Does it hurt?"

"Yeah. To take them hurts, but it's also... I feel as if I had to burst, and as if I could fly. Like a super potent stamina potion. And then it's exhausting."

"Like your shouting."

"Yeah. What they give me... it's too much for a mortal. We're not made for it." We had reached the entrance, and Vilkas pushed the door open. In one regard he was just like his brother – he was unable to be quiet. He didn't even try. His boots battered the ground, his armour creaked, he cursed and muttered under his breath when something didn't go according to his plans. His foes found him easily, and that was how he liked it.

But the entrance hall was empty and eerily quiet. It was treacherous, and I wondered where those who had fled from the dragon hid now. Vilkas only shot me a look over his shoulder as he inspected a few items on a shelf, shiny dishes and some things that looked only like metal scraps.

"Perhaps... someone who's not Dragonborn would just die. Or go insane. Perhaps that's what makes you so special."

I answered his look pensively. There was curiosity and thoughtfulness, but no derision. He had always treated me like a freak – but now, I got the feeling that he really wanted to understand.

"Perhaps you have to be insane right from the start," I chuckled. "I don't know. All I know is that I'm a mess. A part of me wants them... craves for this power, no matter how much it hurts. It's mine alone. Arngeir says it's our will to dominate. Another part loathes them. They're intruders I have to live with."

"I guess you have. And you will need it for your fight against Alduin." He cocked his head. "Left or right?"

A huge stairway led up to a platform with a large stone table and benches around it, two more left and right of it led downwards.

"Left." I always took the left turn. We didn't want to go down, but it seemed now we didn't have a choice.

It turned out that the whole city complex had a full-size basement, a maze of sewers and cisterns, store-rooms and halls full of steaming machinery, most of them drowned by water that reached well over our ankles. It was blessedly empty, only the occasional Falmer guard darting around corners with enervating shrieks. I had the suspicious feeling that they used this horrible maze as a shortcut to get from one end of the complex to the other. We, however, got hopelessly lost in the damp darkness, even Vilkas' infallible sense of direction failing down here. Wet torches filled the air with smoke that made me cough and choke, and I started to freeze despite the humid warmth. But every stairway we tried only led out into the courtyard again, and it took hours until we got a basic impression of the general layout and finally found out which corridors led along the outer wall and to the towers.

It was in the second tower, I was tired and frustrated and on my own because Vilkas and I had split and searched adjacent rooms to speed up this tiresome procedure, and again it was a shock to meet the people who lived here. This time, they were only three, two women and a man huddled up together in the corner of an otherwise empty room, looking at me from wide open eyes blazing with fear. They had rusty daggers at their hips, but one of the women raised an empty hand towards me, a gurgling sound coming from her throat – as if she wanted to form a word and didn't know how.

My instinct told me they were not dangerous, that they were hopeless and broken and that they needed help. But the woman's gesture turned into one of defence when I approached them, panic in her face while the man rose to his knees.

She was the first one who showed a hint of human reaction to my presence, the first sign of communication. I wanted to talk to her, ask her what she needed, why they were here, so many of them enslaved by the Falmer, and I let out a humming noise to calm her. But she froze in shock when I hunched down in front of her and took her hand in mine.

I didn't get opportunity to ask, the lightning bolt that slammed into her chest tearing her from my grip and hurling her against the wall. I spun around and faced a shaman standing in the doorway, his claws clenched around a gnarled staff that pointed at me now. Half of his face was hidden behind a black, chitinous mask, and he seemed to grin at me – a mockery of a human expression that was countered by the high-pitched shriek he let out. I jumped to my feet, raised Dragonbane and sucked in a breath in a single motion, but I made a mistake... a mistake that should never have happened, the stupidity of a whelp. I turned my back to my enemies.

Before I could let the Shout loose, a thin, sinewy arm came with astonishing strength around my throat. Something scratched over the scales in my back and I let myself fall to the side, forming a tangle of limps with the man who had attacked me. But it also saved me, the lightning bolt only hitting the wall above me.

I had to get out of this headlock to get access to the only weapon that was able to reach the mage, but I had no leverage, the man not letting go and stabbing with his dagger wherever he could reach, the other woman trying to wrench the sword from my grip. I yanked back my head and felt something break, the impact dazing me for a second as pain shot in red-hot needles through my brain. The Falmer just rose his staff again when a dark shadow appeared behind him.

Vilkas wore a feral snarl that erupted in a roar as he beheaded the creature with a single strike, stormed into the room and shoved his sword into the chest of the woman with so much force that the tip broke through her back. His hand was covered in her blood when he yanked it out again and let it fall away, grabbed the man's wrist that still clenched around my throat and broke it with a violent jerk. The scream was cut short when the Companion's boot crushed into his face and shattered his jaw, a second purposeful kick against his temple breaking his neck.

A growl came from deep in his chest as his gaze darted through the room, and I recognised this growl – as much as the dark rings that lay around his pupils. His wolf was about to take over. I couldn't let that happen.

I jumped to my feet the moment he turned with another roar towards the woman the shaman's first attack had hit.

My hand on his shoulder was firm. "Vilkas." He spun around, and for the fraction of a second I was sure to become his next prey. Predatory rage flared in his features. "She's dead." At least I hoped so. If she moved now, he would snap. His breathing was laboured, grinding teeth betraying his fight for control, his muscles twitching under my palm. The whole man was strung to the breaking point, a single false motion and the tension would release.

I had to calm him down. Instead to back off, I made a step towards him, my hand coming up, my palm resting against his cheek. "Not here, Vilkas," I said as calm as possible. "It's okay. I'm okay." At least I had his attention now, his gaze piercing into mine, flaring with inhuman wrath. I held it and forced myself to breathe evenly.

The growl that vibrated in his throat didn't subside as his eyes flitted erratically from my face through the room, searching for danger, and came to rest on my neck. "You're bleeding," he snarled, baring his teeth.

The man had cut me, but it was only a shallow scratch. It would be easy to heal, but not now. No magic as long as he hadn't calmed down. "It's nothing." I held his gaze.

I was trying to tame a werewolf, a man who was known for his unbridled fits of violence and uncontrolled temper. But in the end, the only one who could reign him in was he himself, and I could just try to help.

He was just protecting me. I was nervous, anxious and angry with myself, but I didn't even get the idea of being afraid of him. And then, for a long moment, his gaze came to rest on my face before he closed his eyes. He exhaled a long breath that took a bit of the tension with it, nestling his jaw into my hand like a whelp begging for attention.

I was glad when he made a step backwards and broke the contact. His shoulders were still tightly coiled, but his eyes had their silver-blue colour back.

"You're okay?"

I nodded. "Thank you. I was careless."

"Heal yourself." I did, and despite the display of magic he seemed to become calmer when the bleeding stopped. He only looked terribly exhausted as he rubbed his palm over his face, his skin ashen and beads of sweat on his forehead. He flinched slightly when I touched his elbow.

"Come on. We'll rest for a moment."

One of the rooms we had searched previously had a bar on the inside of the door, a small chamber with a few shelves, stone table and benches and a platform that looked remarkably like the beds in Markarth. I unwrapped my bedroll and placed it on top of it after I locked the door. When I turned to Vilkas, he watched me with a stoic expression.

"You're tired?"

"No." Yes, I was, but not more or less than I was constantly anyway. "But you are."

"I don't need rest if you want to go on."

"You wanted a rest before we even started. Sleep if you want, I'll keep watch."

He arched an eyebrow, but didn't argue, discarded his gauntlets and settled with his back to the wall, his legs dangling over the edge of the platform. As if he wanted to leave enough room for me as well. He tilted his head into his neck and closed his eyes.

But I took place back to front on a chair, my arms crossed on top of the backrest, rested my forehead on them and let my thoughts doze away. It was quiet and peaceful in the little room, only Vilkas' even breathing audible. If someone tried to enter he would have to use brute force, and I'd be long alert before that happened.

We had both pressed onwards relentlessly, if only not to admit a weakness to the other, but the constant alertness in this cursed realm, bad nourishment and the lack of daylight were more straining than we wanted to admit. If we weren't successful soon, we'd have to get out of here and take a break that was longer than the few hours we had spent in Dawnstar. My thoughtlessness today and his obvious difficulties to control himself were only another reminder that we were both getting to the bottom of our strength.

I could just hope that Vilkas would be able to find Raldbthar, the third entry point to Blackreach we knew about after Alftand and Mzinchaleft.

I didn't know how long we stayed like this, but somehow it was more restful than a fruitless attempt to sleep. Eventually he had taken off his pauldrons and lay on his side when I glanced over to him, curled into a ball with one hand resting under his cheek. It made me smile. He slept in the same position as his brother, and now, with tousled strands of hair falling into his face and the lines of his face eased of their harshness and tension, he looked more than ever like Farkas.

That he was able to relax so deeply in my company only showed how far we had come, and that I could relax like this in his made it even clearer. I had taught him respect and to take me seriously, and that lesson had been painful for us both. But we had gone beyond that. Now we knew we could rely on each other.

A movement on the bed and Vilkas' quiet voice startled me up. "I thought you're keeping watch," he said, but there was only calmness in his expression when I turned my head, my cheek resting on my forearm.

"You look better," I said.

"You too. You're not green any more." He stretched himself and propped his temple into his palm. A smirk tugged at his lips. "I have more questions."

"Still curious about the dragon?" I chortled.

"Yes. And about your wolf. How are you doing with her? Are they getting along?"

A question like this, so intimate and personal, would have embarrassed me deeply from him not long ago. But not any more. It was something that tied us together.

"How could they not? Of course they do. When I have to shout... the dragon part takes over, and she doesn't like it. And she's happiest when I let her free. But it's not that one part of me would fight against the other." I had had the same concerns before I took the blood, but Kodlak had allayed them. And of course he had been right.

"But wolves don't like to be dominated. Especially not wolves like ours."

I wasn't sure if he didn't want to understand or if he couldn't. I straightened myself, lifted my arms over my head and stretched my weary limbs. "But they're us, Vilkas. There's no intruder. The dragon is a part of me... and I have no comparison how it would be without him. And the wolf is a part of me too. Sometimes I fight with myself, but I can't dominate myself. It's just what we are."

His eyes shot up, locking on my face. "This is not what I am!"

"Oh yes, it is. Remember... twenty years ago, when you took the blood. Do you still know how it felt?"

His eyes darkened. "Yes," he said quietly, "of course I do, as if it was yesterday. The rage. The hunger. The bloodthirst. The power it has over me, these urges I can't resist. And it has never stopped."

"Is that all? You don't have a single positive memory?"

His face contorted as if in pain, but he answered. "You know the ecstasy of the hunt, the pleasure to kill and to feed. To still the hunger. The joy and the freedom and power, and the safety of the pack. You know all this."

"Yes, I know, and for me it's worth it. But that's not what I was getting at." I tilted my head, watched him intently. He was full of rapt attention. "You believe there's dark magic at play and that the beast is something strange you can get rid of. I don't doubt the magic and that Hircine has his fingers in it. But... well, I told you that I know how it feels when something alien enters your being. My beast... she's not alien. It wasn't in Aela's blood. It was there before and only awoke. Perhaps it got enhanced by the magic, perhaps it got some kind of... independence and it certainly got the ability to take a certain form, but it was there before. It was always a part of me."

Slowly he sat up, staring at me as if he had never seen me before. "But... isn't that terrifying? The feeling that this... thing... is a part of you?"

I shook my head. "No. She completes me, even if it's sometimes a fight. She's desperate when I'm sad, when I'm angry she's furious… but she's still me. You know how that feels."

"Yes, I know how that feels. It's terrifying." He rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. I wondered what made him admit this so openly.

"But it's not our beasts that make it hard for us. As a part of us, we can control it. But if you fight it... or suppress it, you only hurt yourself. It's cruel... and that's something entirely human. You said it yourself."

He was silent for long moments. "That's what I did," he said finally. "What I tried."

"And it hurt you." He didn't answer, only lowered his head. "Our wolves are like us, Vilkas. Look at our siblings. I've hunted with Aela, and her wolf is like her, just fiercer and wilder. Or Farkas. His wolf is nearly tame, disciplined, efficient, almost gentle... just like your brother. And I would bet that yours has a temper. What do you think, what kind of wolf would... Tilma become?"

The question forced a feeble smile on his face. "A toothless puppy. She can't even kill a fly."

"Yeah, I thought the same," I snickered. "Aela explained a lot to me before I took the blood. She said that we're always both, always man and beast, but I knew that already, since Dustman's Cairn. But afterwards, I finally understood. We're always both. Everybody is always both, only that we are aware of it."

"And that makes us less human than others."

"No. It just makes us different. And for me... she is my proof that I'm just a woman. In her, there's _no dragon_. She is more human than some people will ever concede me to be, and for me, that's a gift."

He had buried his forehead in his palms, deep in thought, and he didn't look up when he finally started to speak again.

"I envy you, that you can accept it so easily. All of you. I always did. Perhaps you're right. But nothing will change that it has been forced upon us. For me, it will always be a curse. A treacherous, pleasurable curse I'm forced to accept or it will destroy me, but nevertheless a curse. Hircine has us in his grip, and we have no choice any more."

"That's true," I said quietly. "If you can't accept this choice you once made, you're doomed. But there's worse fates than to live in a pack like ours. And for me... I knew what it meant when I made it."

"It wasn't your decision. You were pressed into it as well."

I gave him a good-natured grin. "Don't overestimate yourself, Vilkas. I would have taken the blood with or without you or Hircine's intervention. It's easier with Farkas around, though," I admitted.

"Really? They influence each other?"

"Yes. It works for both of us, but it's more important for me. She's easier to handle when her mate is near. Calmer. Everybody knows how well-behaved his wolf is," I chuckled.

"You miss him, don't you?"

The question startled me, it came so unexpected. But it was bare of malice. I nodded. "Yeah. Like crazy. I hope he's fine."

His smile was gentle. "He isn't. He misses you too. He wants nothing more than for you to come home."

It was quiet for some time, then I heard him chuckle. I was glad that he had shaken off this broody mood.

"I know why your dragon and your wolf don't like each other."

"Do you now?"

"Yeah. Because he's male, and she's female. That can't work."

I laughed out loud. Vilkas had made a joke, and it wasn't even spiteful.

"Sorry to shatter your beliefs, but dragons don't have a gender. It's easy to think of them as male because they're so loud and rash and violent," I chuckled when his lips quirked in amusement, "but… they just are. Imagine they would breed!"

"Horrible idea." When I tied the waterskin to my belt and stood up, he reached out and touched my wrist.. "Wait...," he said. "One more question."

I looked enquiringly at him, nodding. This conversation was enervating personal. I didn't know why he was suddenly so insistent, but it seemed he wanted to use the opportunity and squeeze as much information out of me as possible.

He gave me a sheepish grin. "Why is your hair white? And what colour did it have when you were a child?"

The question made me blush deeply, with embarrassment and with anger. My awkward reaction made him frown. "Sorry...," he said, but I interrupted him.

"Why do you wanna know? I'm no whelp any more!" I snapped.

"Yeah, I know. It's just..." Now he blushed as well. "You're weird, you know? I mean... you're so much. Werewolf and Companion and Dragonborn. You're strange in so many regards, you've survived so much, you have all these powers and you will save the world from Akatosh's son. You're a hero and a legend. Like Talos. If you wanted, you could end this war and throw out the Dominion and become next High Queen. And the Icebrain just married you!" His hands clenched in his lap. He was embarrassed and stared from wide open eyes at my aghast expression as I stood up and slung my pack to my back.

For him, I was just _weird_. That was what all this sudden interest boiled down to. Perhaps he didn't regard me with as much revulsion any more as he once had, but I was still just an abomination. An object of study, and if he could, he would dissect me to satisfy his curiosity.

I threw back the bar and stormed through the door and towards the stairway that led up to the next floor. I knew the layout of these towers in the meantime, there would be a large circular room in the centre and many smaller ones lined up on the outer wall. Vilkas called something, and then I heard heavy footsteps rushing after me.

I didn't care. Usually we cleared the corridor first before we searched through the rooms, but now I stormed into the central hall without a second look. The small group of Falmer in there died in an inferno of dragonfire, one of the warriors that came running through the door with a arrow through his chest, and only two were left to engage in close combat.

I managed to hold them both at a distance. _They_ were abominations, degenerated, cruel, unhuman.

Perhaps I was unhuman as well. That's what Vilkas thought, and he was smart, after all. Strange like Talos! Perhaps I had no right to be treated like a woman. Perhaps I had no right to want to be normal, to love his brother and be a part of the Companions.

I clenched my teeth when he stormed into the room, surveying the situation in the fraction of a second. The moment Dragonbane pierced through the chest of one of the Falmer, he beheaded the other from behind.

We stared at each other, breathing heavily and the corpses between us.

"I know I'm a freak," I snapped, "and you know what? You forgot some pigeon-holes to file me in. I'm also a whore and an escaped criminal, and a stray and a weakling." I had tears in my eyes, the smoke and the stench of burning flesh making my stomach churn again.

I barrelled past him to leave the room. He held me back, his hand clenching around my upper arm. I froze. The last time he had tried this, I had beaten him to clump.

When I spun around, his grip loosened, but he didn't let go, and he started to speak before I could yell at him.

"No, you're not," he said calmly, lowering his sword, "and I didn't say that. You're just a woman. Sometimes you're awfully touchy, and... I should have found better words. But you _are_ weird. In many regards, and that we're here together and talking about this is not the least."

The moment his hand fell to his side, I made a step backwards. "A bit late, that insight," I spat.

"I know. Much too late. It took me until I saw you again." He blushed and bit his lip, raking his free hand through his hair. His reaction made me suspicious.

"In Skyhaven?"

The fingers clenched around the hilt of his sword were white, but his didn't avoid my gaze as he shook his head. "Much earlier. In Falkreath." He swallowed. "I was aware, you know? I was trapped in the change and had no control over myself, but Hircine made sure that I was able to savour every single moment."

My breath caught, heat shooting into my face as I remembered what had happened in that cell. What he was getting at.

"I knew you were there. I saw how you indulged yourself into my torment. I waited for you to kill me, and I saw you both." A trace of amusement flared over his face, gone the moment it appeared. Only a sad smile remained. "I saw him cry for me, and how you cried for him. You caught him. He needed nothing more than you, and it didn't matter any more why you were there - in that moment, nothing mattered for you but my brother, and he could fall into your love and be safe."

I bit my lip, staying quiet. This was disconcerting. Vilkas lifted his hand as if he wanted to touch me, but then let it fall back to his side.

"It was beautiful, Qhourian. You needed each other so much – because of me. I don't know much about that time... not much more than agony and Hircine's terror. But this is something I'll never forget. Without this, I would have never given you the ring." He swallowed, and now his voice was barely more than a whisper. "And later... much later, when I saw you again and you forced me to deal with you... I thought that this was the only way how a woman like you should be fucked against a wall."

I passed him, my gaze directed towards the ground, and he followed without a further word. This was worse than awkward. He was brutal in his open honesty, knowing exactly how much it could hurt. He knew so much about me – too much, so many things that had formed me, that were deeply personal and intimate – and he could use all this so easily against me. Only to know what he knew made me feel at his mercy.

So far, we had been careful with each other, but with his insistent questioning and this revelation he had broken this cautiousness. He didn't have the right to look through me like that. I didn't know him good enough. I didn't trust him enough.

But he forced me to trust him. And at the same time, in the same breath, he answered questions I would have never dared to ask, bared himself to me, showed me his own vulnerability and insecurity.

We made our way through the building in silence, didn't separate again, and at one point, after we ran into an ambush of Falmer waiting behind an open door, he took the lead once more. We worked flawlessly together and pressed forwards and upwards, cleared two more floors and searched them thoroughly until we could go no further. We had found nothing, and I turned immediately back and towards the stairs downwards. When I missed his steps behind me, I spun around.

"What is it? Get going!"

He leant against a stone table, his arms crossed in front of his chest. "I'm still curious," he said with an infuriating smirk.

"No... more... questions!" My index pointed accusingly at him. "What happens between Farkas and me is _not your business!_ You have no idea what we've been through, and you've no right to intrude. You will leave us alone!"

His grin faded. "I know. What you have... I should have trusted him right from the beginning. He was always better with people."

"Only Alduin is worse with people than you," I snapped.

"But I want to learn, and he doesn't." His lips quirked again. What in Oblivion was so funny? "This is not about Farkas, Qhourian." He made a step towards me. "I misjudged you. I still do, sometimes. You have given me this chance... and I don't get why. The least I can do is try to understand. Do you justice."

"I think you know more than enough about me. More than you're entitled to. You're just searching for new labels you can pick on me."

"Labels don't do you justice."

He tried to force me to open up to him, he gave a shit about my sensitivities, and I didn't know why. My instinct told me that his motives could only be sinister, but my experience with him told me otherwise. He had proven himself, was open and honest. Perhaps it was his way, that he took the right for himself to be so intrusive. But I didn't know him good enough, and it was too much and too fast.

I shook my head and left the room, and now I heard his steps behind me.

His hand on my shoulder was firm and heavy. "You're curious too. And you have many labels for me as well." Yes, I had. Sadist, rapist, ass. Companion, Master-of-Arms. My nemesis, the thorn in my side. A pitiful creature. A predator, dangerous and vulnerable. Pack-brother, shield-brother, brother-in-law.

They didn't fit together. And he was right – I was curious about him.

I tugged nervously at my braid. "Why do you want to know about this, Vilkas?"

His smile was open and gentle. "I think I should start at the beginning."

I regarded him pensively. This whole conversation was awkward, but he didn't back off – and I could feel that he didn't want to hurt me. Perhaps he really wanted to understand. But he had opened up to me, in a weird way... as if he knew how easily this openness could lead to new injuries but didn't care, because it couldn't be worse than what we had already gone through.

"Stray-blond. And now we should really get going," I said with a small smile.

"Straw-blond? That must have been pretty."

His confusion when I poked him in the chest was nearly adorable. "Not straw-blond. No silken tresses shining like sunrays. No little princess. Stray-blond. Something between dirty sand and muddy brown. Like Snowback's belly and cropped so short," I balled my hand to a fist with only the pinky stretched out, "because once I nearly scalped myself, when my braid got stuck while the rest of me jumped off a tree." I grinned at him. "My sister's reached down to her butt, though."

He swatted my finger playfully away and barked out a laughter. A rich sound, full of relief and mirth. "You mean... you climbed on trees? You might possibly even have become dirty?"

"Yep. Horrible, isn't it? If Talos were just a dead man, he'd rotate in his grave now. I was too tall for my age, and wild and clumsy and always full of bruises. It was so bad that my mother learned to ignore anything less than infected wounds and broken bones."

He strapped his sword to his back, but his smirk was lighthearted. "You're not clumsy any more. Still a bit tall for your age, though."

I bit my lip. His lighthearted words woke a memory that hurt. He frowned when he saw my expression and stopped to adjust the straps of his pack.

"What is it?"

I recalled how I crouched on the ground of the training ground after my first sword training, beaten into submission by him and his malice. "Once you called me incompetent, too weak and too slow."

His face closed down. Seemed he knew exactly what I meant. "But you were."

"You were an ass back then, Vilkas."

He didn't avoid my gaze. "I know," he said calmly. "I wanted to see you where I left you, crying on the ground."

"You tried to break me."

"Aye. But you didn't."

"I was close. But your brother was there and gave me his strength."

He bit his lip. "I'm glad that he did."

I believed him, because he didn't only say it. For a moment, his features became soft and open, and he showed me what he couldn't say out loud.

He was glad that he had failed. And he was glad to be here, with me, exactly where we were now. Down here in the bowels of the earth and at this point in our relationship. We had built something to build upon over the last weeks. A foundation. Perhaps it was still brittle and vulnerable, perhaps I didn't trust it completely, but it was a start. A good start.

"I'm glad too, Vilkas."

His smile was soft and genuine. "Come on. There's one more tower waiting for us."

But this tower was empty as well, and my frustration boiled over when we left the uppermost chamber of the whole complex after what felt like another eternity of fighting and searching. I leant against the balustrade of the small balcony that went around the slender building, the golden orb hanging directly above me, and fought down tears of anger and disappointment. This had been obviously the centre of the whole kingdom, we had even found something that resembled a throne room. And still none of these buildings was the Tower of Mzark. Either that, or the scroll was simply not here.

"Qhourian?" Vilkas called from the other side of the building.

"Leave me alone." My frustrated grunt let him come over.

"I think I…"

"Gods Vilkas, leave me alone! Just a few minutes, is that too much to ask?"

He backed away with a frown, hands raised in apology, and I drowned for a moment in my chagrin, my forehead leant against the cool metal of a slender pillar. I felt sick and tired and discouraged, and I wanted to scream my ire over this blasted city, but I restrained myself. Not gonna accidentally wake another dragon.

I was on the verge of losing hope we'd ever find that blasted scroll, of believing that everything had been in vain. That it simply wasn't here, that Septimus Signus had been wrong. That guy was a complete lunatic, after all. To take his babble at face value had been madness right from the start.

But I couldn't give up. Not now, not after we'd come so far. I would not leave this godsforsaken cave before I had turned every single pebble upside down. We'd find another exit to the surface to take another short break, and then I would go on. Holy Kyne, how I longed for the open sky above me, for real daylight instead of this eerie glow and the real darkness of the night instead of these artificial shadows.

I forced myself to calm down, banned the thoughts of failure and unfulfillable wishes deep into the farthest corner of my mind before I went over to Vilkas. I wouldn't reveal my weakness to him. He stood at the opposite side of the building, both hands propped on the iron bar of the handrail and stared into the landscape, but he turned when he heard my steps.

The frown was gone, and he smiled, excited and genuine as he pointed at something in the distance.

"Look over there," he said, "see that? If that isn't a tower, I've never seen one."

* * *

More deserted streets, more mushroom lamps, more ramps and stairs, walls and gates… I couldn't bear them any more, but at least the aimless wandering had come to an end for now, and we had a real goal – this huge, slender needle of stone and metal that leant against the cave wall, lean and towering above everything else. And of course in the friggin' farthest corner of Blackreach, as I had predicted right at the beginning.

We went side by side, openly along the cobbled street because it seemed to be the most direct connection to the tower, took out the occasional ambush of Falmer or automatons with practised ease. This new hope, the justified prospect that it would really be over soon revived my spirits remarkably.

Vilkas shot me an astonished look when I nudged him lightly into the side.

"Sorry," I said, but his sole reaction was a quizzically raised eyebrow.

"For yelling at you. It's not your fault that I'm such a wreck."

"It's not yours either. It's okay, Qhouri."

He never called me Qhouri. "It's just… gods, how I hate this place!"

"I said it's okay. It'll be over soon anyway." He gave me an odd smile. A warm smile.

"Don't get all soft on me suddenly," I chuckled, "it doesn't suit you."

The corners of his mouth twitched. "I know, you know?"

"You know what?"

The grin became a smirk. "I may be just a man, but I'm not stupid."

I stopped, my eyes narrowing. A shiver ran down my spine. "What in Oblivion are you talking about?"

My tone and expression must have made him suspicious, the way the amusement slowly left his eyes. His voice was low when he answered.

"That you're pregnant, of course."

I stopped dead. "I'm not…!" The response, nearly yelled, died in my throat.

He watched me blanch and sway when his words hit, watched my hands spread protectively over my belly when a wave of nausea let me break out in cold sweat. And he was there, his hands firm on my upper arms when my knees gave way under me.

He had just spoken out loud what I had pushed away for weeks now, what I didn't even want to acknowledge to myself so far. I had put the blame on the beastblood. On the stress, the injuries and poisonings, the lack of sunlight, sleep and proper food, the Thu'um and the constant emotional turmoil I was in. And now he had said what I didn't want to be true, so casually, so certain.

He knelt before me after he had let me sit down on a boulder, his features changing from confusion into a concerned frown as he searched my face.

"How?" My voice was weak, but I needed this confirmation. From him, of all people.

"You aren't sure yourself?" I shook my head without looking at him, but it was a lie. Deep inside, I was sure. I just didn't want to think about it. I didn't dare to acknowledge the fact.

"Divines. And I thought… it's so obvious!" His hands raked through his hair.

"See… I've watched you. You're tired all the time although you sleep enough. You're always sick, worse in the morning, and when you eat at all you've difficulties to keep it down. And…I guess it must have been about six weeks since you came to Skyhaven Temple. Perhaps seven. You haven't bled once in all this time." His grin was weak, and he blushed slightly. "Sorry, but that's something you girls can't hide. That smell is… distinctive."

This was Vilkas. He made his observations and drew his conclusions, impersonal, rational and objective. He had watched me and concluded that I was with child.

A simple fact. And probably correct.

I curled into a ball, my hands clamped around my shins, forehead dropped onto my knees and shivering violently. But when I felt a hand on my shoulder, I jerked back and shook him off.

I felt empty, empty and numb. I knew I should feel differently… somehow. Happy, perhaps, or excited, but there was nothing. Just a reaction of my body, and the desperate longing to go home, home to my husband. Home where I could share it with him. He would tell me what to do now. I needed his help, his support, his faith into a future that was worth to bring children into. Because I wasn't ready for this. The world wasn't ready for more children.

When I stood up with a stonen face and resumed my way towards the tower lingering in the distance, Vilkas looked at me as if I were a ghost, but he followed without a further word. Only when two Falmer warriors came running and screeching from the side of the street, he stormed ahead and took them out before I could even draw my bow.

"Enough," he growled, ripping his blade from the corpse, "leave us alone!"


	10. A Job Well Done

Once more we had to make camp, the last time until we'd reach the mysterious tower. But when I told Vilkas to go to sleep and that I'd take the first watch, he shook his head.

"Gonna keep you company for a while."

I didn't want his company. I wanted this night to be over, I wanted to get out of here, and most of all did I want to shut down my own brain, stop the mad maelstrom inside the hollowness of my skull. Vilkas was no help with any of this.

A kingdom for a bottle of mead. Or three. Or many.

"You won't tell no one, Vilkas."

He sat across from me, the sharp sound of his whetstone scratching over the metal of his sword screeching in my ears. Now he looked up from his work with a small grin. He really found this amusing.

"You can't hide it for long anyway. Especially not if you're with twins… and chances are high that you are."

"Why are you such an ass? You think this is funny?" My voice was shrill.

"Funny? No. But it's also not as horrible as you seem to think."

I shut him down. "You've no idea what you're talking about."

He put his sword to the side and leant forward with his elbows on his knees, as if he wanted to crawl into my mind.

"Qhouri…," he sighed, "I know I'm not entitled to give you advice, and perhaps I should just shut up and leave you alone, but for once I won't. I'm gonna be the uncle of this child, I've a right to have at least an opinion. And no one else is here." He laid a finger over his lips when I wanted to interrupt him.

"You, girl, are a healthy young woman with a loving husband who has already passed the test that he's a fabulous father. You know as good as I that he'll explode with joy when he gets the news. And you have a bunch of people around you who will completely freak out over your whelp. Or whelps. From Kodlak to Tilma, all of them. Especially Tilma."

"But…"

"No but! Yes, there's still this little Alduin problem. Gods, I've lived with Esbern under one roof, I know probably more about this bloody prophecy than you! So what? You expect the world to stop spinning until you've done your job? It won't, Qhourian… people bring children into the world all the time, despite the dragons and despite the war. If they can do it, you can as well."

"Yes, but they're not the ones who have to stop him."

"No, they're not. But does it really make a difference if you have to expect to be killed by Alduin himself or by one of his brethren? Or by a rampaging soldier patrol, a gang of bandits or a rabid sabrecat? Life's dangerous, you're a Companion, you should know best. The only difference between you and us is if you fail, then the game's over for all of us. Then it really doesn't matter any more. But if you really think that's an option, you can just as well give up _right now_."

A lecture from Vilkas. Exactly what I needed. I groaned and hid my face in my palms.

But perhaps it was indeed exactly what I needed, if only to give me the time to calm down. Absentmindedly I realised that he had lost his ability to rile me up with every word he said. Instead I listened to him, and believed that he meant what he said.

"A few months ago you would've talked differently. You would've cursed me for being reckless and irresponsible, for forsaking my duties and for ruining your brother's life."

He didn't appreciate the reminder. "My priorities have changed," he said curtly.

I buried my hands in my hair. "Farkas and I… the night before we left Morthal… we've spoken about this. About having a family." It felt as if that night had been an eternity ago. I missed him so much that it clenched my chest. "Some day. When all this is over."

I remembered Farkas' expression when I had asked him this stupid question. I had been jealous… jealous of this part of his life I knew I couldn't share. Of the happiness that beamed from him when he was with his girls. I was jealous… and selfish, because I knew what he wanted, and I coaxed the confirmation from him that he wouldn't exclude me.

And now I was selfish again. I knew that Vilkas was right and that he'd be happy. Despite all difficulties and doubts, despite Alduin and the uncertainties regarding our future, he would be unconditionally happy. And I wanted nothing more than to give him this happiness.

Just to think of the hope in his eyes, of his joyous smile and his amazement when he answered my question let my stomach flutter. Perhaps I wasn't ready to be a mother. But I wasn't alone, I had the best father of the world by my side to learn from.

"Well, seems like you screwed up your schedule."

Vilkas muttered his remark with his usual deadpan expression, and it tipped me over the edge. As if anything in my life had ever gone according to a schedule. I stared at him, into these piercing light eyes, so awfully familiar and with none of the malice I still expected to find in them, and the chaos of emotions, all the fears and doubts, hope, anticipation and joy suddenly changed completely, needed and found a release. Or perhaps… it was just the mood-swing of a mother-to-be, but I started to giggle. A giggle that soon turned into a laughter that coloured my face in a bright red and let my eyes water, that let me slump over helplessly and made my sides burn with lack of air.

"Screwed up our schedule," I sobbed and panted, bent over, gasping frantically for breath, "gods, you're such an ass!" and his thinlipped scowl only made me laugh harder until he couldn't help it any more and his lips curled up in an amused grin.

"I've no idea what's so funny," he said with a chortle, watching me curiously, "but I'll take that as a compliment." As if he couldn't believe my outbreak of cheerfulness. I couldn't believe it myself.

"Do that, Vilkas. Do that." I forced myself to calm down. "And thank you. Gods, I needed that." I gave him a broad, genuine, relaxed grin. Nothing had changed, but I felt as if a mountain was lifted from my shoulders. The smirk on Vilkas' face proved that my change of mood rubbed off on him.

"You're welcome," he grinned cheekily, "though… you know what? I don't know about my brother… no, that's wrong, I _do_ know about my brother, and that's exactly the problem, but I would have thought that you're at least a bit more… careful. If you already have a schedule. I mean, there are potions for that, after all."

A new wave of giggles overwhelmed me. "Uncle or not, that's really not your business any more." I couldn't believe it. I sat here and discussed the most intimate details of my life with the man I hated most in the world. Only that he wasn't that man any more, and I wasn't the same woman either. He had made me laugh, even if it was only by accident, and I was tired of being cautious with him, tired of being wary and holding myself in check. He was just my brother-in-law, the one person who knew my husband at least as good as I. Uncle Vilkas. "I've just a guess anyway. Of course I've taken those potions Arcadia hides under her counter."

"Together with the stallion pots, I know," Vilkas threw in with a snicker.

"What?"

"Stallion pots. You didn't know about them? Beefed up stamina potions... something like the antidote to the stuff you took."

"Holy Daedra, no! Don't think…"

I bit my tongue and felt my cheeks grow hot. Of course I knew them, they were just called differently in Cheydinhal. Bull's brew, for example. But this went too far, I wouldn't discuss Farkas' stamina with his brother. His smug grin showed that he knew exactly what I wanted to say, but he was smart enough to refrain from a remark.

I took a deep breath. "Believe me, I've been thorough with them. But I think… well, my guess is they don't work when I've changed. I think... well, they make that something in my body doesn't work as usual. In a way, they're like poison, and I guess the wolf neutralises them. It must have happened after I took the blood."

He tilted his head, contemplating my answer. "Yeah, that's possible," he said finally. "Aela never had this problem."

"No. _She_ would have warned me. And of course none of you guys thought so far." I gave him a cheeky grin. "But if you ever woo a werewolf girl, you should keep this in mind."

Now I had made him blush, and deeply so. Served him right for his curiosity. He stood up with red ears and a grunt and retreated into his bedroll, lying down with his back to me. "Don't forget to wake me in a few hours."

* * *

"How does this work, for Daedra's sake?"

I kicked the innocently blinking control panel furiously when the damned construction in front of us swung back into its original position _again_. This thing made fun of me. It were only lousy four buttons I had to light up and press in the correct order. Only that the correct order was a different one every time I tried.

And Vilkas stood behind me, leant relaxed against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, his smirk… no, it wasn't condescending. Just amused. But I would have liked to kick him as well.

I never imagined that one day Vilkas' good mood would strain my nerves. But now he was downright cheerful, and had been since he woke me for the hopefully last stage of our journey.

We had finally found the Tower Mzark, an endless bridge leading over a foaming abyss of water and rocks towards its entrance. When I pushed the huge golden double doors open, I relished in a feeling of triumph, as if the Scroll was just a single step away.

It was premature, this feeling. Of course, it was never so easy. But I knew exactly that we had in fact reached the end of our search when I found the slot for Septimus' cubic lexicon right beside the panels.

The lower part of the tower was filled with a gigantic sphere, metal with an inlay of gems, that blocked our view when we opened the door from the antechamber. Only a narrow ramp led past it and upwards, until we could either step on the arched surface of the sphere's uppermost part or follow the ramp to a higher platform, where we stood now.

From here, we had a marvellous sight upon the construction that filled the huge circular dome, an intricate web of metal bars, lattices and several blue and green crystals tugged under its ceiling. The whole contraption, the whole room seemed to come to life when we approached, the crystals suddenly releasing a soft, turquoise light that was accompanied by the low hum of active machinery. And on top of the ramp, we found the control panels to move the whole construction.

Four identical buttons on pedestals stood in front of me, two of them lit, in the middle a glass display panel that showed something completely incomprehensible – perhaps a celestial map, perhaps the correct alignment of the gems hidden in the metal chaos above our heads, perhaps just the spawn of a mad mind.

With a lot of trial and error I had figured out that when I pressed certain buttons, either other buttons lit up or the whole metalwork started to move, the bars swinging low and wide and unfolding towards the platform below them. But never at the same time. Either… or, and no matter what I did, the whole thing folded itself neatly back into its original position over and over again. It was driving me crazy. On purpose.

When a finger tipped on my shoulder, I stepped back deliberately and heavily on Vilkas' toes. Curse these steel-plated boots, he didn't even feel it.

"Let me try," he murmured, already bent over the lights and buttons. "There must be a system behind it. We just gotta find it."

He studied the display, then pressed a button, and nothing happened. He pressed it again, nothing happened again, but he completely ignored my slightly hysterical, gloating giggle. Then he pressed another button, and with a swoosh the bars started to swing and rotate. And the next button lit up. My gasp caused his lips to curl up mischievously.

"You're just lucky," I grunted.

He studied the display, compared it with the position of the crystals before us. "Let's see…," he drawled, his brows furrowed in concentration before an index slowly came down onto another button.

Swoosh, and the whole construction was back at the beginning. Vilkas' mouth pressed into a thin, stubborn line. "Keep that grin to yourself," he growled over his shoulder, and I bit on my cheek to suppress at least the audible signs of my amusement.

"Hey, you were better than I. Do that again. What you did at the beginning."

He brought the metalwork back into the first position, and this time I chose the next button. Nothing happened. Nothing happening was still better than a swoosh in the wrong direction. Now we leant both over the panels, but while I pointed to the last button that had lit up, he chose the only dark one.

He was faster than me, and he chose wrong. We were back at the start, and he let out an annoyed huff and started over, then he pushed the button I had chosen.

I held my breath and exhaled audibly when the tangle above our heads started to move in a complicated dance until the crystals finally lined themselves up with their counterparts in the floor. Bright rays of light appeared between the upper and the lower part of the machinery.

I looked at Vilkas with a broad smile, but he just stepped back and reached into his pack, retrieving a slim stick of charcoal and a piece of parchment. Hurriedly he wrote down the sequence we had revealed so far.

"Clever," I laughed, and he gave me a lopsided smirk.

"We're not finished yet. Now you can reset the thing as often as you want."

"Smartass," I snickered, "you mean like this?" I reached out and pressed the first button my finger reached, holding his amused gaze.

There was no swoosh this time. Just a highpitched whistle, a barely audible sound that hurt in my ears, and Vilkas' growing eyes that made me turn. The colourful lenses swung back, the rays vanished, but from the top descended the last part of the puzzle, a metal ring containing an egg-shaped receptacle, shimmering in the same light as the lenses lined up around it. When nothing moved any more and it had become absolutely quiet, it opened with a whizz and released a piece of parchment, rolled up onto a finely lathed wooden rod.

"That's it," I whispered, my throat suddenly constricted. There it was, the fragment of a timeless eternity we had searched for so long and that would send me back in history – or into insanity. I swallowed heavily.

It looked so harmless.

Vilkas stood behind me, his hands coming down on my shoulders… firm and calming.

"Go and get it," he said, giving me a gentle push towards the ramp. I stumbled down to the floor, over the glowing crystals and through the metal bars that seemed to quiver around me, and took the scroll from the box. It felt light in my hands, much lighter than it should be. Vilkas snatched the lexicon from its slot and came down from the controls until he stood before me, his face again closed and unreadable. I presented him the scroll with outstretched arms.

"Keep it for me? Please?"

He nodded slowly, took it from my hands and wrapped it into a piece of cloth before he tucked it carefully away. I felt relief when it was gone… at least for the moment.

"Let's go home, brother," I said, and he gave me a wordless smile, and when I offered him my hand, he took it and let me draw him to the lift that would bring us back to the surface.

* * *

"Do you have any idea where we are?"

"No." Vilkas looked around, his teeth clenched, avoiding my gaze. Startled I searched his face. He lied. He lied to me, and he didn't even try to hide it.

The dome that concealed the exit from the Tower Mzark was located in a small basin, surrounded on all sides by unclimbable rocks, just a small path leading down the mountain and high enough that the snow that covered the ground had lasted over the summer months. And obviously there had been others in this secluded place, although I was sure they didn't come the way we had taken – we found the remains of an old, abandoned camp, the furs of a tent, the frame collapsed under the force of the unrelenting winds up here, a cold fireplace and even some abandoned, rusty and rotten pieces of armour.

The man looked at the sky, obviously relieved that the sun was already on its way towards the western horizon.

"Let's stay here for the night. No need to break our bones by crawling down there in the dark."

He knew he couldn't lie to me, turned away and searched through the remains of the campsite, and he didn't say a word when I dropped my pack and followed the path downwards to see where it led. It was steep, narrow and slippery, turning north first before curving around a huge protruding boulder. But as soon as I came around the ledge and the view towards the south opened up to my marvelling gaze, I stopped with a gasp. Below me rolled the plains of Whiterun to the horizon, already covered in shadows but still so beautiful in their autumnal colours. And in the distance, the wooden pediments lit by the rays of the setting sun as if they were on fire, loomed the familiar silhouette of Dragonsreach. Home.

"You ass," I spat when I slung my pack on my back again and draped a fur over my shoulders. The wind was icy, and we were used to the humid warmth of Blackreach. "Do what you want, but I'm going home."

Gods, I was ill with homesickness, and he deliberately tried to keep me away? I'd march through the night if I had to, now that I knew how close we were.

I was barely out of sight when I heard his steps behind me.

"Wait," he called after me, resignation in his voice, "you can't climb down there in the darkness."

I pointed at the horizon. "It won't be dark for at least another hour. Don't try to stop me!"

He gritted his teeth, but he pushed past me and took the lead on the steep, treacherous path. Such a gentleman, all of a sudden. I snorted into his back.

"What was that for, for Ysmir's sake?"

He just raised his hands, didn't deign me with an answer. Only when we reached the end of the climb, the mountainside turning into the gentle hills of Whiterun's plains and we were able to walk side by side again, he suddenly stopped.

"Qhourian." I looked over my shoulder, hoping he would hurry up. Gods, we were so close.

But he stood in the near darkness and didn't move, shadows concealing his expression.

"Vilkas?"

"I can't go with you." His voice was rough.

"Why not?" I spun around and made an impatient gesture towards the city. "I wanna go home. Please."

He stretched out his hand. "Loreius' Farm is over there. You just have to follow the road." The silhouette of the windmill stood clearly out against the sky.

Only now the meaning of what he was saying sunk in. My thoughts were already in Whiterun, the surprise to get out of Blackreach so close to home flaring up in anticipation and happiness.

But he didn't want to come with me, and he didn't try to hold me back either. This was a farewell.

_I want a home again. I don't know if I'm gonna get it, but I have to start somewhere. I have to start with you, and I need your help._

He had started with me, and he had proven himself. Many small steps, many of which we had made together. But this journey had to come to an end, we both knew it, and I had never longed more for anything than to get out of Blackreach.

We had never spoken about the afterwards. I had never thought about it, just assumed he'd be as happy as I to get this done as fast as possible.

But that wasn't the case. He wasn't happy that it was over, because he had nowhere to go now. I had forgotten that Whiterun – and Jorrvaskr – wasn't his home any more.

"I thought you want to return," I said weakly.

He didn't answer, just stood there, and I felt his gaze in my back as mine was glued to the silhouette in the distance, fighting with myself. It pulled me in with a promise of rest, safety and recreation. Farkas was there, waiting for me. And he was a grown man and had to make his own decisions. I couldn't force him. I didn't even want to force him.

But the Vilkas I left behind was lost, lonely and scared. I couldn't leave him here, so close to home and still so far away, although I didn't understand what bothered him. I tore my eyes from Dragonsreach and turned back towards the steep path we had descended. He looked as if he wanted to dash it up again and vanish back into Blackreach.

"What's the matter, Vilkas?"

"I held my promise. You're safe, and you got your scroll. That's all that matters, doesn't it?" His lips were pressed into a thin, stubborn line, and he avoided my eyes.

"You're stupid. Even more stupid than I." I sighed. "If that was all that mattered, I would have gone with Athis. I thought… didn't we have a good time, down there?" I pointed at my feet. "I mean… we didn't kill each other. Why can't we finish the job now together?"

Vilkas stood rigid and stiff, but I could literally smell his insecurity and the turmoil that raged in him. The effort it took him to keep his composure.

"Yes, we had a good time, and that's exactly the problem." His voice was strained and low, but then it broke out of him. "That's what you would like, don't you? That I return at your mercy, dependent on you?"

"My… mercy? Are you crazy?"

"Yes, your mercy, _sister_ ," he growled, taking a step back. "Have you forgotten what happened? I _raped_ you. I sent you through hell, and with you my brother and all of them. I have no right to return, and if I could, it would be only because you speak for me. We both know that I'm in your debt, too deep to have ever a chance to pay it back. Perhaps you need this, perhaps you need it to feel safe from me… I don't know. But I'm at your mercy. Always have been, always will be."

I felt I should get angry, furious, yell at him for being such a damned egoistic coward. But I didn't. All traces of pride, anger and alertness had left his posture. He just looked… frail. And stubborn. And desperate.

I laughed lowly, and he raised his head, taken aback by the sound.

"You're such a fool." I shook my head, turned on my heels and sat down on a narrow boulder. Whiterun still lured from the distance, but this was something we had to clear up first. We could just as well make ourselves comfortable.

I looked up to him as he kept standing with his pack at his feet, shoulders bunched up and his gaze lowered to the ground.

"You know, Vilkas… one day, when you're sitting with Farkas in the Mare and you're drunk enough to talk instead just to boast… ask him what happened when he proposed to me, the morning after he came back from his vacation with you. Ask him how incredibly stupid I was when I rejected him. Ask him how furious he was and what he yelled at me about debts and businesses. Yes, there were flowers involved, but it was probably the least romantic proposal in the history of Skyrim. And we Nords aren't exactly famous for romance."

"Why don't _you_ tell me?" His voice was low.

"I'll never be drunk enough for that." At least he dared to look into my face now. "See… there's someone waiting for me – for us both – to whom I'm indebted to. Deeply, with no chance to pay it back. And you know what? It doesn't matter. Your brother has taught me to take what he had to give… and at the same time he has taught me to give, because he is able to take without fear. Stop being afraid, Vilkas."

He straightened himself. "I'm not my brother, Qhourian. Never will be. Sorry to disappoint… again."

"Now you really wanna annoy me. Of course you're not. The gods forbid!" My eyes narrowed slightly. "What do you really want? You want me to beg? Forget it, I won't."

A trace of a grin appeared on his face, but it was gone again as soon as it flared up.

"No," he said, "you'll never beg, I know." Suddenly he was before me, kneeling to be on eyelevel. His fingers came up, traced the scars on my face, the other hand took mine and laid it onto the collar of his armour.

"Why, Qhourian? We had a good time, and you're not afraid. Tell me why you've gone through all this with me."

I swallowed heavily, felt the blood rush to my head under the touch of his fingers.

Perhaps it was time.

"I don't need this to feel safe from you. I feel safe from you because I know you won't do it again… and because I'd shred you to pieces if you tried, and you know it."

"That's true, but no answer to my question."

I gave him a crooked grin. "Because I wanna get rid of you."

He removed his hand from my face and let it fall on his knee. "What?"

"We're all our own masters, Vilkas. Yes, I've gone through hell, but so have you. And now it's over, we had a good time, and I want to go on. I have to go on, I need my strength for more important things, and I really don't want to be responsible for you any more. I don't have the right to tell you what you can do and what not. It's high time that you take your life into your own hands again."

"But you've every right…"

"No, I don't! I'm not alone in this world, and you aren't either. I've never been alone during the last year, not even when I thought I was. We all rely on others… so what? I'm at the mercy of so many people… yeah, so what? Stop being such an egomaniac!" I glared at him. "You said you want a home again, and you didn't mean Skyhaven. You will have to make your own steps to get it."

"Skjor would still be alive without me," he said lowly.

"The Silver Hand killed him. And honestly, I feel insulted that you're more afraid of Aela than you were of me."

"I underestimated you."

"That's a mistake you make far too often. Perhaps you underestimate her too. You will have to find out yourself." I looked sternly at him. "We need you in Jorrvaskr. We're spread too thin, and Ria and Torvar need desperately someone who gets their training straight. Kodlak needs you, he barely made it through last winter, and the next isn't far. And Farkas… he needs you most of all."

"You did all this for others?"

I scowled at him. "What do you wanna hear? I want peace in Jorrvaskr, and I need you there for the sake of the people I love. It's as good a reason as any." His piercing, unsettling glare didn't falter. It was time to stop being cautious. "Don't press me, Vilkas. Once you invited me to the Companions, and I trusted you although you drove me insane. I want to trust you again… but I can't, not as long as you don't trust yourself."

His face became soft, became open, vulnerable and incredibly tired, but he didn't turn away for some endless moments. I felt uncomfortable under his silent scrutiny and stood up, breaking the contact. "I'm going home now."

He sighed, rubbing his palm over his face, and when he finally rose and slung his pack over his shoulder, I was certain I had ultimately chased him away. I stretched out a hand. "Give me the scroll, please. Don't wanna chase it over all of Skyrim again," I said wearily.

But he shook his head, adjusted the weight and made a few steps towards the city. "Let me take you home," he said, giving me a tentative smile over his shoulder. "I've a feeling I'm not the one you wanna spend this night with."

* * *

"Welcome back, Companions," the guard greeted us with a friendly nod as he opened the gate for us. These guys were never surprised when we came back to the city at the ungodliest hours, and they barely gave us a second look. The casualness of the greeting seemed to ease the nervousness in Vilkas, at least a bit.

Once inside I looked around, curious and incredibly relieved. Nothing had changed, the torch mounted on the pillar in front of the Warmaiden smithy spreading flickering light, ready to greet Adrianne who often started her workshift long before sunrise. The faint sounds of voices and of the Mare's door clapping in the distance made me smile. The patrolling guards wore warm cloaks over their armours, it was cold, the scent of morning frost in the air. Fall was nearly over, we'd been away for so long.

And in the window of the small house next to the smithy shone a tiny lamplight, inviting and homey.

Vilkas returned my happy smile when I turned to him in front of the door, laying a finger to my lips. But when I had finally fumbled the key into the lock and we entered, I couldn't suppress my own gasp. When I had bought the house it had been empty, blank floorboards, a creaking stair, blind windows, vacant rooms, and I could only afford the most basic furniture.

Now, everything had changed. This wasn't just a house any more… it was a home, beautiful and cosy in its exotic furnishing, a vivid mix of Dunmeri and Nordic style. The chairs at the fire were coated with the plaids in dark red and various shades of brown we had bought in Windhelm. There was a large table with a bronze candle-holder on top and a dark red carpet below it that extended over the stairs up to the second floor, some sideboards to prepare meals on them and with plenty of room for food and drinks, and lots of shelves mounted to the walls, filled with our new tableware, the blue glass shining in the dim light.

And it was obviously occupied. To see Farkas' cloak hanging on a hook, his boots standing below it and an empty bottle of ale on the table let me swallow.

I caught Vilkas watching me with a small, pensive smile when I beckoned him to follow me. I touched his shoulder briefly. "I'll show you to your room, okay?"

He nodded and started to unstrap his boots, but when I had showed him the door to the little free chamber, he held me back. "I'll have breakfast ready when you get up," he said lowly. "Sleep well, sister."

Farkas was sound asleep when I closed the door to our bedroom behind me, our coming hadn't disturbed him. I leant against the door and just watched him for a moment in the dim light of the fireplace, curled into a ball, one hand hanging over the edge of the bed, the other resting flat under his cheek. He dreamt, lips twitching, mumbling some incoherent words, and still his face looked so innocent and peaceful. To see him like that, here in our home, to know that he lit that little lamp every evening trusting that one day I'd come back and see it… I held my breath, my throat constricted with unshed tears of love and relief.

He stirred when I crawled under the blankets and cuddled against his back, when I inhaled his scent and slung my arm around his waist, and finally he turned around, faced me with fluttering eyelids and pulled me against his body, my head coming to rest in the crook of his neck. Only then did he seem to realise what he was doing, and his eyes shot open.

"…Qhouri…" Wonder was written into his face.

"I'm here." My fingers trailed over his face. "Sleep, dear."

"I love you," he murmured, his eyes already closing again, but his lips curled into a happy smile, and he pulled me closer.

I woke to the feeling of a hand stroking my hair, a heavy arm around me, my body nestled into his warmth, skin against skin. For an endless moment, we only looked at each other, our faces only inches apart. I felt his breath on my face and breathed him in, studied his expression full of wonder and calm and happiness. While he gave me time to wake and just held me close, fingertips stroking up and down my spine, everything else fell away, stress and tensions I hadn't shaken off for weeks. Relief settled heavy and warm in my limbs. I was home.

"I thought you were a dream," he mumbled finally.

I inched closer to him, he pulled me in and bowed his head, and when his lips closed over mine I drowned in a wave of emotions, tenderness, relief, need and bliss, and I wasn't sure if it were his or mine. It was a nearly chaste kiss, unhurried and soft, and it could have lasted forever, each in the other's arms.

His skin was hot under my fingers, I felt the need for him gather in my belly with gentle warmth and his arousal rest heavy against my hip as he stroked the sleepiness from my body. But there was no urgency in the movements of his palms over my skin, exploring and reassuring. I buried my hands in his hair and my face against his neck. We had all the time in the world. The world wouldn't dare to disturb us now. We barely moved, careful not to break the contact.

But I had to chuckle when I realised what he was doing with his soft caresses. His fingertips lingered at a point at my upper arm where a grazing Falmer arrow had first left a scratch and then a tiny scar. Only a small silvery line, but he found it and examined it thoroughly.

"I'm fine, love," I murmured into his ear.

His embrace became even tighter. "Never again," he whispered. "I'll never let you go again for so long."

I wiggled against him. "Missed me?"

He looked at me for a moment, and then he claimed my mouth in a smouldering kiss, his tongue demanding entry, nipping and biting, and I felt my desire flare up, the blazing need to touch, feel and taste him. A low groan came from his throat.

I tugged at his hair. "I need you," and he curled around me, caged me with his body like a treasure, and our caresses became firmer, more intimate and purposeful, their familiarity setting body and mind ablaze.

"I have so many questions." We lay tangled into each other, savouring the warmth and closeness. My skin still burned with the heat between us, the afterglow of our lovemaking dwelling, lingering, kept alive by his soft touches.

"And I have so many news." I had to smile. I knew when I told him the most important news of all, all questions would be forgotten. "But you first."

"How did you do? Vilkas and you?"

"We got along. Not always easily, but… yes, we got along. He's here now."

His face became pensive. "Yeah, I heard him earlier… he really wants to return? To Jorrvaskr?"

"He's homesick and scared, that at least I know for sure. Have you… is it possible? What will the others say?"

He groaned. "I don't know. When I told them that you're in Blackreach together and that he'll perhaps come home with you, they were shocked."

"Shocked? Why?"

"That you take the risk. That you can bear him. That I let you go with him. Athis was the worst. He said he would kill me if you didn't come home safe, and he was serious." He gave me a look full of warmth. "They worried for you, and let it out on me. You've no idea how happy they will be to see you."

I swallowed. As overwhelming the feeling to be home was... I had to hurry up, and I wanted to go on. I wanted to finish what I had started with the scroll and get over with it. Finish this job once and for all, and then I would return to Jorrvaskr and stay and be nothing but a Companion for the rest of my days.

And his wife, and the mother of his children.

"And? What did you tell them?"

He grinned, albeit a bit insecure. "That you're a big girl. And that I trust you both to find the scroll and come home safe." He swallowed. "But it took so long. I wanted to go to Blackreach and search for you. Every day."

"You would have never found us. It's... incredible. Incredibly huge." Perhaps, one day, we'd make a trip to the Tower of Mzark and I'd show it to him. It wasn't far, after all.

"You did find the scroll, didn't you?"

"Yes." I didn't want to speak about it. Not now. He read my face and let it go. "My turn. How are you doing? With your eye?" I stroked his cheek.

He smiled at me. "Much better. I can see dark and light, things when they move. Like shadows. It's much better in daylight than in dark caves or at night. And you were right, I've adapted. Have even been out on jobs again already."

I sighed with relief. "You've no idea how glad I am to hear that. But I would've killed you if you hadn't been here tonight," I huffed playfully, and he buried me with a growl beneath him.

"I'm no easy prey any more, woman."

"You've always been easy prey for me, love," I whispered and let my fingers trail along his spine, felt out the familiar scars and the relief of his back muscles. "The house is so beautiful. It was wonderful to come home."

"The girls have helped me to arrange everything," he said with a shy smile, his forearms propped on both sides of my head, "and Athis loves it. We even went to Windhelm once more to get some stuff he thought we'd need." He trailed kisses along my neck. "But the idea with the light was mine."

"I love you, husband."

"And I love you, my heart. Any more pressing matters?"

I took a deep breath. "Yes. But not now. I'm so glad to be home, you've no idea. And… I have something to do first. And I'm starving. And then… I need you. You've time to spend the day with me?"

His face became soft, his fingers tracing over my sides. "Not only this day, Qhouri. I've accepted a job for today, but I'll see to shake it off. These weeks were horrible. So long, and not to know where you are and if you're fine... I'm never gonna let you leave me for so long again."

"I never wanna leave you for so long again," I mumbled. "Come here. I'm starving."

* * *

"Vilkas!" Farkas blustered down the stairs and punched the man standing at the cooking pot into the shoulder. "It's good to see you, brother."

His twin blushed when he saw me standing on top of the stairs. "You're up already? I'm not even ready…"

"That smells delicious," I said with a laughter, "but if there's only a trace of venison in it, I'm gonna chase you back to Dawnstar!"

"No venison," he grinned, pointing the wooden spoon at me, "mostly vegetables and a bit of salmon. Hope that's convenient."

Soon we gathered around the table laden with stew, bread, cheese and ham, fruits and sweets. Vilkas had even been to the market and replenished Farkas' sparse supplies. Both men grinned when I wolfed into the food.

"Sorry," Farkas said chewing, "but I've mostly eaten in Jorrvaskr. Not much fun cooking for one alone." He looked around with a happy smile. "Finally there's some life in here."

"Oh," Vilkas said with a smirk, "there will be a lot of life in here," the kick against his shin made him recognise my seething glance, and he stopped for a second, "eh… now that your wife is back."

Thankfully, Farkas was oblivious to our… exchange.

Our meal was lighthearted, eased by our stories. There would be much to tell later when we'd have to give a more detailed report, but a dragon a mile underground or the description of the huge Dwemer city we had explored were an entertaining diversion until we were all sated.

But underneath the recounting of adventures and the leisurely banter, we were all aware of the tension. We all were aware that Vilkas couldn't stay here with us. That he'd have to return to Jorrvaskr… and that none of us knew what awaited him there - beside lots of unpleasant questions.

Until a loud knock at the front door disturbed us.

"Farkas?" a female voice called from outside, muffled through the wood, "are you ready?"

Farkas hit his forehead with his flat hand. "Gods, that's Njada," he groaned, standing up, "I've completely forgotten about her."

He opened the door and drew her inside, ignoring her clueless look. "What's the matter, where's your armour? Why aren't you …"

"So good to see you, Njada!" I interrupted her and pulled her into a hug. Surprise made her go limp for a moment when I appeared behind the broad back that blocked her view, but then she returned the embrace.

"Qhouri!" Her face beamed. "Since when are you…"

Only now she started to look around and found Vilkas still sitting at the table in the back of the room.

Her eyes first grew wide with amazement, then narrowed into a frown. "Vilkas?" I already feared she'd fall victim to her sharp tongue, but she contained herself. Instead she nodded curtly, and he returned the gesture.

"Last night," I said, "we came home last night."

"I'm sorry, Njada," Farkas said, driving sheepishly with his hands through his hair, "we forgot the time. And I wanted to ask anyway… is anyone else available who could take over for me? I'd really…"

"You'd really like to cop out, I get it," she laughed, but then she became serious. "No, the others are all gone." She looked apologising from him to me. "I'm sorry… but we've got to get this done. Those mages have killed another pilgrim."

Farkas turned to me, hard lines forming around his mouth. "The Julianos Shrine, north of Shearpoint. Some mages have occupied it and annoy the pilgrims. As in, kill and enthrall them." He drew me a few steps away and palmed my face, disappointment in his eyes. "I'm sorry, love. I'll come back as fast as possible."

I rested my head against his chest. "I know. Companions duty." I gave him an insecure smile. "Be careful." This wasn't how I had imagined our first day back.

Njada watched us attentively from the door, watched Farkas vanish upstairs to don his armour, my disappointed expression and Vilkas sitting stoically apart.

"Qhouri? Can I have a word with you?"

I turned to her.

"I'm sorry… I'm glad you're back, all safe and sound," she smiled.

"I'm fine, Njada," I said slightly puzzled, "just a bit tired. And we've a lot to discuss. But it can wait." I smiled at her. It wasn't her fault, after all.

"How was your travel?"

"Long and boring," I laughed, "but we're gonna give a detailed report when you're back, okay?"

"That's not what I meant." She grinned sheepishly and paused for a moment, letting her gaze wander through the cosy room and over the opulent remains of our breakfast. She pulled herself together. "Do you think Vilkas would… take over for Farkas? So you have some time for yourself?"

I looked at her in amazement. "That's your decision alone, Njada. And his, of course."

She grinned. "As far as I know, he's never been officially dismissed. High time that he gets his ass going again."

"He has worked hard over the last weeks." I gave her a small, encouraging smile. I thought this was a fabulous idea, but I was biased and didn't want to press her. "But… you don't have to do this just to do us a favour. Not if you feel… uncomfortable with him."

She looked at me, arms crossed resolutely in front of her chest and her head tilted in contemplation. "You did fine with him, didn't you?"

I nodded. "Mostly."

"Guess otherwise he'd be chaurus fodder now." A giggle broke out of her. "I'd feel much more uncomfortable if I robbed you of your _husband_ today, sister. And I don't wanna have him around moping for the next two days anyway, he was already unbearable during the last weeks. Although I hope you know we'll have to have a word about that whole husband thing later."

She turned on her heels and went through the room, snatched an apple from a bowl and bit into it heartily.

"You come back to Jorrvaskr, Vilkas?" she asked boldly, with an impish grin, and she caught him entirely on the wrong foot.

Impressive, that woman.

He was clearly reluctant to answer at all, actually blushed under her scrutinising gaze, his lips pressed into a tight line. I felt the fight and the obstinacy in him, wanted to yell at him to give in, not to let this chance slip away. And finally he nodded. "If I can." He'd have to answer this question more than once over the following days, and those that resulted from it. He would have to endure to be judged, and he knew it.

"Well," she drawled, taking another bite and chewing with relish, "for a start, how about getting back to work? Care to do your brother a favour and hit some necros with me?"

The two warriors locked eyes, a silent battle of wills, eyes unwavering, a small, nearly gentle challenge trying to figure out new intentions and old ties. But Njada was never one to back out when an idea had settled in her head. After all, she regularly brawled her lover to pulp when she felt like it.

And in the end it was Vilkas who broke the contact first, his expression relaxing, and when he stood up, his lips were quirked into a small, relieved smirk.

"If you insist. Give me a second."

When he went upstairs to get his gear and we heard him call for his brother, Njada turned to me with a lighthearted grin. "He's unlearned nothing, has he?"

"No," I snickered, "but he has learned a lot. Thank you, Njada."


	11. Home Again

"What was that for?"

Farkas stood at the foot of the stairs after Vilkas and Njada had left, his face creased into a startled, confused frown. I didn't know myself. When Vilkas came down the stairs, armoured, freshly painted, sword and bow strapped to his back and his face set in determination, I couldn't help but give him a happy smile. He was as exhausted as I after all, had slept only a few hours after our return… and now he left again just to give us some privacy.

His brother got a firm grip to the wrist, and then he stood before me, blue eyes staring down on me, searching my face, locking my gaze into his. He palmed my cheeks just like Farkas had done it only minutes earlier, uncaring for the people around us. Absentmindedly I suddenly realised what made his face so different from his brother's - he lacked the laughlines in the corners of his eyes, those tiny crinkles Farkas had in abundance. But the callouses on his palms felt nearly the same.

"Qhouri…," he whispered, and when his forehead touched mine, there was nothing left. Nothing to prove, no ego, no secrets, no challenges – just openness, bare and raw and sincere. He made use of our bond and forced me to see what he revealed, the acceptance of what had happened and what was still to come, all these confessions and the promises he had made only to himself – and above all this the overwhelming feeling of hope.

"Thank you." So quiet that I wasn't sure he had said anything at all.

He was at peace – with himself and with me. So far, in Blackreach, we had tried to come to terms with each other and our past. To join Njada on this job now was his first step to tackle the future and everything it would throw at him.

After tensing up first, I relaxed with a deep breath into his grip. He never cared how I would deal with his ruthless candour, but now his hands that covered the scars on my cheek were gentle, firm and unrelenting, a naturalness in the way he touched me that was new.

Our scars were the evidence of our history. They would always be there, but they didn't define us any more.

A barely audible sigh came from his lips when I finally pulled away and tugged a streak out of his face. "Be careful, brother," I whispered, my hands on his shoulders. My lips twitched. "And be nice." His eyes tried to hold me, but the lopsided smirk I got was the Vilkas I knew. When he stepped back and opened the door for Njada, I still stood with the feeling of his hands on my face. Until Farkas' words startled me up.

"Qhouri?"

I lowered my head, rubbed the nape of my neck nervously. I didn't know what it was for. It was something between Vilkas and me, and I knew I should share it with him. Only that I didn't know how.

His fingers pressed into my shoulders. "What did he do?"

"I… I don't know. Really." Slowly he let his arms fall to his side, confusion in his face.

"I got to go, love. Visit… someone. Can we go out afterwards? I still got to tell you something… but I need to get out into the sun."

He just nodded as I snatched my cloak from the hook and fled the room.

It was a cold, beautiful day, the sky shining in a bright, clear azure blue, an icy storm with a promise of frost and snow sweeping across the hills. It carried dead leaves and dried soil with it, rattled in the wooden roofs of the watchtowers, made the guards on their post at the gate shiver and bent the tents of the Khajiit traders. Kharjo answered my good-natured greeting with a friendly wave when we crossed their camp as a shortcut to get out into the plains.

I longed for fresh air, the scents of nature and the light of the sun, and didn't care for the curious, amused looks of the guards when I ran over the drawbridge, held my beaming face up to the sky and drew my husband with me.

But he just watched me with a small smile, reluctant to join my high spirits, and when I grabbed his hand he clenched it in his grip, entangled his fingers with mine as if he never wanted to let go again.

It was nearly impossible to carry on a conversation with the storm wiping away the words right in front of our faces and every step a fight against its power, and so we made our way around the Dragonsreach rock in silence, close to each other but without talking, and the involuntary quiet built upon the slight tension we had both felt in the morning, when Vilkas had left.

Only when we came to an abandoned camp at the foot of the cliff directly beneath the palace, we stopped. It was a former bandit hideout, either the guards or the Companions had cleared it out not too long ago, and it provided enough shelter from the storm to make it a good place for a rest. Farkas placed his cloak on the ground for us to sit upon - clothed as he was, in thick woollen tunics and pants and warm boots, he didn't freeze. And he had even brought an additional blanket, together with a snack and a bottle of ale which he unpacked carefully, kneeling between the remains of a splintered table and a broken barrel. Far too carefully. Far too hesitantly.

I had to hunch down beside him and take the bottle from his grip to get him out of his withdrawal, but when he turned to me, his hands clenched in his lap, the cords in his neck were thick and tight.

"What's bothering you, love?" My voice was soft. I had a guess what was wrong, that his imagination was wreaking havoc in him, but I needed him to confirm it. His eyes were dark with confusion and doubt.

He gritted his teeth, but he held my gaze. "Did something happen? Between Vilkas and you?"

"No." The answer was too short to be true, and he knew it. I sagged against him, and then he shifted and turned until I straddled his thighs, chest against chest and face to face. He relaxed slightly when he felt my limbs entwine around his body.

"Tell me. Please," he whispered.

I rested my head against his shoulder, heard his heartbeat pound under my ear. "I'm not sure." He didn't move, waited for me to continue. "We've gone such a long way together, Vilkas and I… yes, something happened. We've come close, in an odd, bizarre way. But I'll never understand him like you do, and..." I gave him a helpless look. I didn't know how to explain something I didn't really understand myself, and I hated that I felt so defensive. "It's not that I _like_ him. He's just... close. It's a bit scary."

"But the way he looks at you… how he looked at you this morning… I know my brother, Qhouri. I know when he... cares for someone. It's rare enough that he does, and even rarer that he admits it. Especially to himself."

"I don't know, love. It's strange, but we had a good time in Blackreach. But now he's also scared and vulnerable, and he's searching… I'm not sure for what, but I don't want to hurt him."

"And you care for him." It was neither question nor accusation, just a statement – and so simple that it was startling.

Did I? Did I _care_ for his brother?

Part of the reason why I was so glad to be back was that I needed a break from Vilkas. Urgently. We didn't try to kill each other any more, but the strange relationship we had developed in Blackreach was at least equally exhausting.

Of course it was in no way comparable to the closeness I shared with his brother, but it was also different from my relationships to all the other Companions. We had formed each other, we shared too much, and we knew too much about each other.

The Vilkas I got to know in Blackreach was still the same man I had known before – full of snark, sarcasm and arrogance, still prone to leash out at the slightest provocation, still someone who never hesitated to deal as much damage as possible against those that evoked his ire. But the picture got new layers during our time together, new perspectives and colours. He had proven that he was a man who was able to care, who could be reliable and protective. A good shield-brother.

But he had also taken the hand I had reached out to him and torn the whole arm from my shoulder. Perhaps he wasn't even aware how intrusive he was. As aloof as he came across himself, he knew no borders of privacy and personal space.

At least not with me, I doubted that he dealt in the same way with Njada. As if he had a right to take part in my life. Perhaps it was because he had no life of his own, because he knew that starting over would be hard and painful and he needed something to hold on to. But it was also his way, this brutal openness he confronted me with and claimed from me in return. He knew me far too good. Once he had used it to hurt me, and now... now he used it to construct an intimacy that could only exist because we had sent each other through Oblivion.

But although he knew much more about me than I was comfortable with, although I often felt pressed and awkward with him, he had never exploited it. This scene in the morning – perhaps he wanted to force me to trust him. But I had felt his yearning and his sincerity, this desperate longing for me to believe him – to believe in him. Because I was the only one who knew all the abysses in him, the darkness, doubts and loathing, perhaps even better than Farkas.

We had already overcome so many points when we could have easily destroyed the other. But we didn't, and in hindsight, that was all that counted. Not guilt, not forgiveness, not revenge or redemption. All this was there too, but most important was that we knew of our vulnerabilities and didn't exploit them.

Our relationship was fragile and brittle, but it was there, built from the ashes of violence, humiliation and betrayal. I wouldn't start to exploit it now.

Was this _caring_? I didn't want to give it a name, but Farkas had done it for me. No one knew us both better than he, and it had only taken him the few hours we had all spent together to come to a conclusion – a conclusion that made him confused and wary.

I wouldn't lie to him, and it was pointless to deny anyway. I gave him a feeble smile and shrugged. "I guess I do, in a pretty weird way. Kyne help me."

It was quiet between us, just my own breath, his heartbeat and the storm howling along the rocks around us audible. I could feel the tension in his back muscles. "Yeah, thought so. He does that to women," he mumbled after long minutes.

I lifted my head. "Farkas?" He stared into the distance, only his fingertips wandered slowly and absently over my back.

"And… you saved him. Can't blame him that he doesn't want to let you go."

"Farkas!"

"And you spent so much time together…"

"FARKAS!"

His head spun around.

"You're stupid."

I cupped his chin, my thumbs stroking his cheekbones. "Listen to me… your brother did a good job in Blackreach. It was a hard trip, and we had to rely on each other... of course we cared. If we didn't, we would have never made it. Isn't that exactly what you wanted to happen when you sent us off?"

He let his forehead drop on my shoulder and wrapped his arms around me, a slight tremble running through his body as I stroked his back. But slowly he relaxed and released a deep sigh, and a small, insecure smile curled his lips when he lifted his head and searched my eyes.

"I'm a fool. I should be glad that you don't try to kill each other any more."

I returned his smile, glad that he had shaken off this mood. "Nothing will ever be easy with him. We have tried to be honest with each other, but... gods, he's so damned difficult! I even had to shout at him... once. Had to flash-freeze him because he was so annoying."

His eyes shot wide, but then he chuckled. "Well, I guess he earned it." His hand came up, stroked tenderly over my face. "I just missed you so much. I _am_ glad that you get along. Really."

"I'm too," I said softly. "We've come far, your brother and I. It was good I made this journey with him. And it was your idea."

He bit his lip. "Have you spoken about... what happened between you?"

"Yes." The question he didn't dare to ask stood in his eyes. "I don't know, love. I don't know if we will ever be able to leave it behind. But... we have gained distance. And we got to know each other. There's more that we share now."

A small smile spread over his face, and he nodded knowingly. "I know. He cares for you," he said matter-of-factly. As if it made him glad.

I eyed him curiously. "Now that sounds as if you don't mind at all."

"I know it changes nothing between us... whatever it is that you share." He kissed me softly. "I'm just so glad that you're back, Qhouri. That you're safe – both of you. And that you brought him here. You two... you're the most important people in my life. If he needs you or you need him, if you have to work something out... do with him what you want. I trust that you don't hurt each other."

"No guarantees," I grinned, closing my arms around his neck, "he's still an ass, after all. And now I don't wanna speak about him any more. There's something much more important I gotta tell you."

He tilted his head curiously. "And what would that be?"

I pecked him on the lips. "I love you, husband. You've no idea how much. You've no idea how much I missed you. But I had something of you with me all the time. Something precious." I took his hand and pressed his palm on my belly, covering it with my own. It was warm even through the fabric of my tunic. I felt breathless, nervous, excited... and a bit scared of his reaction as he watched my face keenly. "I'm pregnant, Farkas. You're gonna be a father."

He became stiff, rigid like a bar of iron, every single muscle hardening to stone. Slowly his hands came up, settled first on my shoulders, then stroked down my arms as if he didn't know where to put them. His face was a mask of overwhelmed stun, his heart pounding against my palm and his scent flaring up in shock and excitement.

"You're…"

"That's why I had to leave earlier. I've been at the temple, and Danica has confirmed it."

"A… child?"

"Yes, love," I laughed, "you're gonna be a father. Again." I chuckled at the disbelief in his expression. "Danica sends greetings, by the way." It didn't look as if he even understood what I said.

"A child!" It was a cry of delight, and then he laughed and sobbed and pressed sloppy kisses to every bit of skin he could find, and his hands were under my clothes, encircling my waist and pressing me against him with so much force that it took my breath away.

I had hoped and anticipated how he'd react, but to see it happen was a relief nonetheless because it was so impulsive and genuine. To experience this outbreak of unbridled, overwhelmed joy let my own stomach flutter, let me drown in his careless happiness.

"We're gonna be a family!" I laughed against his lips, and with these, with my own words and his reaction to them, this glorious, unrestrained smile and the light in his eyes, the truth of it overwhelmed me. We would be a family, and the world would be safe for us. Because I would take care of that, personally.

He took my shoulders. "You glow," he said, marvelling at my face. "You glow from the inside."

I smiled and wiped over my eyes. "I'm just so relieved. And so happy that you're so happy."

He looked at me for a long time, and I could watch the breathless rapture change into calmer joy that had room for thoughts. "Of course I'm happy. Even if it's a bad moment to be with child."

I shook my head frantically. "I'll make it work. We'll make it work." I leant heavily against him. It was good to know that he'd always be there to lean against. "I just have to hurry up now."

"I'll help you." His voice was rough. "I'll do everything. Anything you need. What does Danica say?"

"That I'm fine, just a bit starved. I was always sick in Blackreach, but it's better already. You'll have to feed me up."

He nodded eagerly. "Can you… feel it already? And how did that happen anyway? I know you've taken those potions. Always."

"Yeah, that was Vilkas' first question as well," I grinned.

It was the wrong answer, and I cursed myself for my improvidence, wanted to slap myself when his face fell into disappointment.

"Vilkas? You told Vilkas before me?"

I caressed his cheek. "Of course not. _He_ told _me_."

Now he was completely confused. " _Vilkas_ told _you_ that _you're_ pregnant?"

I sighed. "Yes. You know he's far too clever for his own good. And a keen observer. And… at first, I didn't want to believe it."

"Now I'm really jealous," he mumbled, "I would have liked to share that moment with you."

I laid my arms around his neck, tangled my fingers into his hair. "We'll have lots of moments, love," I said softly. "Better moments. More important moments. I promise."

The light was back in his eyes when he tilted his head, together with a cheeky sparkle. "Do you know how long? I mean… you know when it happened?"

I chuckled. Of course I wasn't absolutely sure, but after Danica's examination and with my assumptions about the influence of the beastblood, I had at least a guess. A very educated guess.

"Sometime during our honeymoon. Perhaps at the hot springs." Masser had been full during those days, and we had not restrained ourselves, relished in the solitude and the shared experiences.

He held me tight, and I felt the rush of emotions that coursed through his body with a nearly physical impact. Joy, and love, and hope. A tiny, healthy dose of fear and the quiet determination to make the best of this new challenge. This child meant a future we never dared to think of before.

"Hey," I whispered into his ear, "you wanna see it?"

His eyes went wide. "How? I can't even feel it yet."

"Oh yes, you can. If you know what to look for." I had lost weight in Blackreach, and when I had taken a thorough, extensive bath in the morning, I had discovered a tiny, barely noticeable bulge in my belly. But now I took my satchel and pulled out a rolled up parchment.

"From Danica for you. It's a life detection spell." I chuckled at his incredulous gaze. "She has a whole stack of them for occasions like this. You just gotta read it."

He took it with hesitation and eyed it suspiciously. "Magic? Will it harm you?"

"No. It just affects you. Makes you see… dunno, my life-force. I tried it out, it's really harmless."

I stood up and before him while he unrolled the paper with careful motions. I had no idea how these things worked, but it seemed that the spell was somehow stored in the scroll and could be released just by reading the words. Everyone was able to use them, even someone like Farkas – who held it now with obvious nervousness.

"What will I see?"

I gave him an encouraging smile. "Just try it out."

His eyes flitted from the scroll to my belly and back, and finally he started to read with quiet mumbling. As soon as the paper crumpled into dust, his gaze shot up, the nervousness instantly changing into startled excitement. He gasped, his eyes growing wide.

"You really glow." His voice was shallow. "There's something… in you!" He shifted to his knees and laid his palms on my abdomen. "Here. I can see it. It's not you. It's something else." He just stared at me, breathless wonder in his face, and only let his forehead drop against my belly when the effect of the spell faded.

I stroked his hair. "It's our child, love," I whispered.

He stayed like this for a long moment, his face pressed against me. When he lifted his eyes to my face, his arms coming around my hips, they shone with so much love and tenderness that it took my breath away. "Yeah. We will be a family." His quiet fortitude moistened my eyes, and I blinked against the tears. He shot up and swept me into his arms. "Qhouri? What's the matter?"

I hid my face in his chest. Damn mood-swings. "Thank you," I muttered.

His embrace tightened, but then I felt his palm on my cheek, lifting up my face. "You will be the most glorious pregnant world-saviour ever," he said with an expression of irresistible seriousness. "And then we will be a family." He made it sound like a fact that was written in stone. My feeble smile was disturbed by a hiccup.

"Thank you."

His laughter was brilliant. "You are bearing my child, woman. I have to be thankful!" He slung his arm around my shoulder. "Let's go home. I want you to show me what to look for."

"Okay. And I'm starving."

"You only just had breakfast!" Farkas grinned at my indignant expression.

"That's hours ago already," I huffed, "and I have to catch up. And now… I want smoked slaughterfish. With pickled onions and vanilla sauce."

"Together? On a single plate?" He looked horrified when I nodded vigorously. I had no idea why.

But when we left our shelter, my gaze was immediately captured by a movement in the sky, a dark, winged shadow circling over one of the mountaintops north of us, not far from the point where Vilkas and I had left Blackreach the night before. The dragon's shriek was not audible from where we stood, but the reptile was obviously hunting, we saw it swoop down onto a point below it, saw it spit a stream of ice when it hovered over its prey.

I prayed it were just frost trolls or sabrecats it was after and not innocent travellers crossing the mountains, and my mind darkened. I didn't want this reminder, not now, but the gods never cared for what I wanted. There were so many of them, and it seemed they became more frequent every day.

Farkas noticed my frown and followed my gaze, and when he saw what I saw, his grip around my shoulders became firmer and he turned us away, led me around the Dragonsreach cliff back to the gates of Whiterun.

"Don't think about them, Qhouri," he said with a calm smile. "Not today, not tomorrow. You need this time… and I don't wanna share you with them now. Alright?"

I looked up into his face, into his expression of deep caring, and nodded. He was right, I needed this time. We needed this time.

* * *

"Kids… what did you think? Did you think at all? You really wanna send me into an early grave, don't you?"

_Kids?_

I looked at Kodlak in disbelief, the corners of his mouth twitching in agitation. He was completely beside himself.

We had left Breezehome for Jorrvaskr in the early evening, hoping that at least some of the Companions were back from their jobs, and found Torvar and Athis leaning against the rim of the well in the marketplace, chatting with Carlotta and teasing her daughter, both dusty and tired but chewing enthusiastically on the apples the merchant woman had gifted them. And their faces were priceless when they saw us coming up the street.

"I knew that hole in the earth would spit you out again," Athis laughed when he threw his arms around me and I veered him around, earning us a grin from Farkas and Carlotta. And Torvar punched my shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark, and pulled an exaggerated face.

"Finally I can tell you how much I hate you. And that husband of yours, but he knows it already."

I grinned at him. "I love you too, Torvar. And we'll make up for it, promised."

Farkas interrupted our banter. "Where are you heading, up to the hall or directly to the Mare?"

"Well," Torvar drawled, "we wanted to allow ourselves an afterwork drink under Hulda's loving eyes, but I think we're gonna cancel that plan?"

"Yes," Athis grinned, "I wanna hear how the bowels of the earth look like. And what kind of milkdrinkers live there that they can't even digest our Qhouri."

And while the boys changed out of their armours and washed away the dirt of the road, we visited Kodlak to bring him up to date. Who had immediately started to yell at us, and our clueless looks didn't ease his foul mood at all. It seemed as if he had just waited for my return to get this roasting off his chest.

"You two are insane," he bellowed. "First you run off to marry. No, I don't care for your reasons! We're your family, we would have liked to share that day with you! But no, you didn't even bother to ask, and instead to rely on us you ask _thieves_ for assistance! Of all people available in Riften you ask this wretched gang of scum? Seriously? That the priest let them enter the temple at all is a miracle all in itself! And then you," his finger pointed accusatory at Farkas, "get yourself blinded by those bloody bugs like a bloody greenhorn and let your wife run off with her worst enemy. For weeks! Months! Whose stupid idea was that, anyway? And now that you're finally back," his finger wandered to me, "you bring him home? And now he's off again? With _Njada_? _On a Companions job?_ You really think this is how it works?"

The old man buried his head in his hands and breathed heavily. My bad conscience kicked in like the fist of a troll.

Kodlak's head shot up again when we didn't say a word, grey eyes flaring with anger. "By the way, where is the blasted thing now?"

"What thing?" Farkas asked cluelessly.

"The scroll, Icebrain! Shor's bones, I'm really not into magic, but even I know that it can turn the world upside down if it gets into the wrong hands. So, where is it?"

I hesitated. "Eh… Vilkas had it. I think… he left it in our guest room this morning."

I hoped so, at least. Not that I had asked him. Perhaps he had just… forgotten about it in the rush of his departure, and the scroll had already driven an unsuspecting, innocent necromancer into madness. Or a troll had eaten it when he dropped his pack somewhere.

Kodlak's expression twisted into something between rage and resignation. "Oh. You _think_ it's in your guest room? Is it at least hidden under his pillow, or did he just drop it off with his laundry?"

Err… if I remembered those moments in the Tower Mzark correctly, he had _wrapped_ it into his laundry. The heat of embarrassment shot into my face. With this at least the Harbinger was right. We were careless… something like the Elder Scroll had to be kept in safe custody.

"I'm gonna…" I hesitated, not sure if I was allowed to ask for it. "Can I bring it here? To Jorrvaskr, to keep it safe till I need it?"

"Finally! A glimpse of common sense!" He stared at me. "Of course you can bring it here. I request that you bring it here! No safer place in all of Whiterun, you know that. I'll have an eye on it personally." He sighed deeply. "Divines… in their guestroom… I'm too old for this…"

He took a deep breath. "Okay. Anything else I should know?"

Farkas and I looked at each other. "Yes," we said simultaneously.

Kodlak just grunted annoyed. "Out with it."

"Vilkas wants to return to Jorrvaskr," I said.

"Qhouri is pregnant."

Kodlak slumped back into his chair, his eyes wide. "No."

A look, and we quickly agreed that it was better to remain quiet for the moment.

"I really hope the first isn't the cause of the latter. Or vice versa."

"Of course not!" Farkas blurted out.

Our Harbinger looked very tired suddenly. He leant forwards, propped his elbows on his knees and rubbed his temples. "Sorry. That was uncalled for." A small smile curled his lips, and I was relieved to see him slowly return to his old self. "I'm not sure… is it already allowed to congratulate, or should I wait until the whelp enters the world? And… is it one, or two?"

"Only one," I laughed, "at least if Danica is reliable."

But then I took in his harsh, gaunt features that made him look so eerily exhausted and swallowed. He had worried… for the Companions as a group and for every single one of us, and it had taken its toll. "I'm sorry, Kodlak. I know we were rash, and… we had to make fast decisions, and there were many moments when I wished I could just come here and talk to you. Ask for your advice. Perhaps not everything we did was really clever. But it was no mistake to marry Farkas, and it wasn't a mistake either to go to Blackreach with Vilkas. Please believe me."

I lowered my head. "Perhaps it was wrong to talk him into coming to Whiterun with me. He didn't want to… he's scared. But he's also homesick…"

My voice trailed off when I met Kodlak's incredulous glance. "You pity him, Qhouri."

I straightened myself. "Yes, I do, like I'd pity everybody who is denied to come home." I clenched my teeth. "Kodlak… please. You once told me that I have to face him, and I called you a fool for that. But I did, and it has cost us all a lot of blood, sweat and tears, but I've made my peace with him. And he with me, and that's perhaps equally important. Of course he can always stay with the Blades… but I wish you'd speak with him."

Kodlak's expression was pensive and doubting, but it also showed his usual friendliness, wisdom and empathy again - with an edge beneath it that revealed that he wouldn't be fooled. That the peace of the Companions as a whole was worth much more to him than the well-being of a single – former – member, even if he knew him for more than 30 years. He was our Harbinger for a reason.

"Farkas?" he turned to my husband.

He didn't hesitate. "Sweat, blood and tears, yes. Those two have fought, Kodlak, literally and with everything they have. But they've also gone through Blackreach and come out alive, they kept each other safe and came home together. That's enough for me."

Kodlak's gaze lingered on Farkas, with that tentative smile that revealed his affection. He had raised those men after all, they were like sons to him, and he wasn't ashamed to show it, like Farkas was never ashamed to confide in this affection.

"I can't and won't decide this on my own," he said finally. "Before I speak with him, I'll have at least a word with Aela. When will Vilkas and Njada be back?"

"Tomorrow afternoon probably."

"Alright. Tell him to keep the evening free."

* * *

An arrow whizzed past my head, so close that the fletching nearly caressed my earlobe, and lodged itself neatly into the temple of the scrubby Nord that was far too busy dodging and blocking my blade to realise what was happening in the background of the small cavern.

"Thank you, sister!" I yelled and heard Aela's answering laughter from behind while another bandit already approached quickly, this one in heavy but rusty iron armour and wielding a battleaxe nearly as large as himself.

"Yours!" I shouted and darted past him, already in his back and engaging the last of our enemies while he still tried to follow my manoeuvre and turned on the spot, the head of his axe describing a large arc that was slow and predictable enough to bring up my shield and let it slide off. Aela's first arrow pierced his side below the massive chestplate, and he doubled over with a scream. The second ran through his throat, and the scream became a gurgle. Poor fellow.

The last of these cutthroats was a wannabe-Athis, a Dunmer in shabby leather armour, wielding two daggers. He was fast, much faster than the attacks of my long blade, and his daggers came forth like the heads of a snake, unpredictable and vicious, searching for gaps in my armour and cover. But I had trained with one of the best dual wielding warriors in all of Skyrim and wasn't as easy to fool as he thought.

"This is mine," I panted when Aela appeared in the corner of my eyes, bow discarded and her own shortsword already drawn, "leave me at least a bit of the fun!"

Aela eyed our dance around each other critically for a moment, then she sheathed her sword and started to search through the chests at the edge of the room. When I heard her content grunt, I knew she had found what we were looking for – an ornamented, blunt, ancient greatsword with a distinctive jadegreen jewel embedded into the silver knot of the hilt. The family sword of a Whiterun citizen who had told us a touching story about how his father and grandfather had fed their entire families using this weapon and that he didn't want to let it rot in some bloody bandit's trophy room. He didn't elaborate how it came there in the first place, but he paid us well to retrieve it back, and Aela's expression showed that she had found even more. Gold and jewels probably, something to stuff our purses.

On next glance she had settled back to front on a crude wooden chair, her forearms crossed on top of the backrest.

"Hurry up a bit, Qhouri," she said with a grin, "I wanna get out of here."

My opponent gritted his teeth at her casual banter, increasingly desperate that he wasn't able to slice past my cover. In the meantime I had inflicted him with a bleeding slash into the muscle of his upper arm and a shield bash that would colour his lower ribs black and blue for weeks – just that he wouldn't live to endure it.

"Not so hasty," I laughed, "I need the exercise. I've fought nothing but Falmer and machines for weeks and always had a big bad greatsword in front of me!"

She watched my next move, a stab to the unprotected throat of the man that he blocked by crossing his blades in front of his chest, countering my movement by a swift arch of his back. But he had to step back and I followed his retreat, ignored the feigned lefthanded attack to my side and hammered the edge of my shield downwards against the wrist of his right hand when it shot forwards in a low strike against my upper thigh. Something crushed, he screamed and the weapon fell with a dull clang to the ground. A fast kick and it was out of his reach, ending up between Aela's feet who immediately started to clean her fingernails with it.

"Well, that sword can't have been that big and bad, you're by no means out of practice," she smirked.

I observed myself carefully while I fought, tried to assess if anything had already changed. Since we had left Blackreach and Farkas took care that I got rest and everything my stomach desired in abundance, I felt like a completely new person. And despite the exertions of the last weeks, I was in good shape, strong and persevering. Farkas hadn't been thrilled to let me go on this job with Aela, although it was nothing special or particularly dangerous, but he would have to get used to it. I was neither ill nor injured, and it would do me no good to let laziness become a habit, even if I had earned some recreation time.

I stalled my opponent for a bit, the man already panting heavily and sweat pouring in torrents down his dark grey face, leaving traces in his maroon warpaint. The way he clenched the handle of his remaining weapon showed that it made his palms already slippery. And he gritted his teeth to overcome the pain from the broken wrist, the hand hanging useless by his side, but I knew it had to spoil his reactions.

"Has Kodlak already spoken with you?"

Aela seemed a bit perplexed about this question. "About what?"

Obviously, he hadn't.

"Vilkas of course," I shouted while moving again, shifting my weight to get the leverage for the next strike. It was time to end this. I feigned an attack to his hip, made him twist sidewards just to stop his movement with a thrust of my shield to the bottom of his already bruised ribcage. Those dragon claws attached to its edge didn't just look vicious. They pierced easily even through hardened leather, and they left his waist with several clearly defined, heavily bleeding holes, the impact additionally breaking a rib.

The mer doubled over and fell to his knees, wailing in pain, and Dragonbane's long blade sliced smoothly through his exposed neck. Suddenly is was quiet, and I turned to Aela.

"He wants to speak with you before he meets him tonight. Vilkas wants to return."

Aela sat completely relaxed on her chair, her chin propped on her forearms. And her smile was devious.

"Oh, does he now? Then I shouldn't let our Harbinger wait, should I?"

I loved my sister dearly, but sometimes I just wanted to shove a boot up her bottom.

"Do you have an opinion on this, Aela?" I snapped at her, but it didn't disturb her fabulous mood at all.

"Not sure," she smirked. "Am I allowed to treat him like a whelp? Will he take over the ledgers again? Will he go hunting with me when you're gone? Will he do what I tell him? Will he be _nice_?" She threw her hands in the air. "So many questions!"

"You always preferred to hunt alone," I growled, but she already left the cave with fast steps and vanished into the dark tunnels that led to the exit, the sword we had come for strapped to her back. It looked silly, the small, slender woman with the huge weapon that stabbed with every step into the backs of her knees.

Only when we were out in the daylight again, she turned to me, and now her expression was serious.

"Yes, I have an opinion," she said. "He is part of the pack, and the pack is sacred to me. We are what we are, and even if memories can haunt us, the past should be laid to rest. Better live for the moment." She rested a hand on my shoulder. "If you can let go, I can as well, Qhouri."

* * *

_Beware, beware, the Dragonborn…_

Mikael's line died in his throat immediately when we entered the Mare, I didn't even have to scowl at him. Seemed he had learned. And I was in the soothing, reassuring company of my siblings, sure as hell didn't he want to get on the wrong side of us all.

I didn't want to be the Dragonborn tonight. It was fun to recount our adventures in Blackreach in front of the eager faces of the Companions, but for the moment, I didn't want to think of the immediate future. At least not of the part that involved the scroll that lay hidden in a heavily locked case in Kodlak's study, not of Paarthurnax, not of Alduin. And I also didn't want to think of what was going on in Breezehome at the moment, where two men tried to figure out how to go on.

There was so much we had to celebrate, I was dead set to take advantage of the opportunity. I had earned it.

When Njada had stumbled into the training yard in the afternoon, she came directly from the temple. The wounds she had suffered from the necromancers had been severe, too severe for a simple healing potion, extensive burns and nasty scorch marks left by lightning attacks, and she admitted openly that she'd be dead without Vilkas.

"He just did his bloody job, exactly what I expect from a shield-brother," she said dryly but without malice when she had settled beside us on the porch, and as a thanks for the ale Farkas handed her, she punched him in the shoulder. "But you still owe me."

And now we sat around our usual large table in the inn, Njada cuddled wearily on Athis' lap who was arguing with Aela about the best way to deal with a Dwemer Centurion if there was no Dragonfire available, Ria singing along with Mikael, and I leant against Farkas' shoulder and sipped on the single goblet of watered-down wine I was allowed over the course of the evening. And Torvar had found a convenient victim for his quips, having fun with me and my involuntary abstinence, but Farkas had an eye on me - Danica had forbidden excessive drinking, Danica's word was law, and he was determined to take care that I complied. His constant joking and cheering with Torvar wasn't very helpful, though. Not at all.

"Guys… if you go on like that, you can say goodbye to any plans of future fatherhoods right here and now. Both of you," I growled.

"You know, Qhouri… I don't hate you so much any more," Torvar drawled in response, a cheeky grin splitting his face. "You're already punished enough. Divines, I never thought I'd ever be so glad not to be a woman!"

And my husband had nothing better to do than to burst into roaring laughter.

It became late, conversations slowly turning into onesided, slurred speeches and songs into bawled, wordless caterwauling, Hulda keeping her maids busy and her guests happy. I watched the ruckus around me with an unusually clear head, but strangely, it wasn't unpleasant to be sober for once while everybody else gradually drowned in their intoxication.

"What do you think, should I ask Vilkas to join us?" Farkas asked suddenly and in a low voice, bowing down to me.

He started me up. "Eh… you don't know what Kodlak has told him. Perhaps he's gonna leave tomorrow."

His gaze was thoughtful. "I'd like to ask him."

I looked into the round, into the cheerful, more or less drunk faces of the Companions, the atmosphere at our table so wonderfully relaxed. To bring Vilkas here would destroy the mood, of that I was certain – but it had to happen, sooner or later.

"Now's as good a moment as any," I said with a shrug. "Perhaps better than tomorrow when everybody has a hangover."

"Everybody but you," Farkas snickered. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

It seemed to become quiet when the two huge, bulky Nords suddenly stood in the door to the inn, the cold air of the night rushing in before Farkas kicked it shut. Of course it didn't – although the brothers were always an attention-getting appearance, especially when they turned up together, most of the patrons were more interested in their tankards than in any other guests. But our table became silent, all conversations died at a blow when every eye turned to them. From the corner of my eyes I saw Athis whisper something to Njada who released him, and then he stood up and went towards the men, slender, dark and straight, his lips pressed tight in determination, crimson eyes narrowed on Vilkas with a seriousness nobody was used from him.

When he stood before him, the tension seemed to become corporeal, and it released violently when the mer's fists crushed into Vilkas' face with the speed of a snake's head and all the power his trained body was able to muster, one hitting his jaw, the other breaking his nose. The attack came and was over so fast that neither Vilkas nor Farkas were able to react in time.

Now the inn was quiet, the attention of every single person directed at the three Companions at the door. Athis stood motionless in front of the brothers, tense like a bowstring, ready to defend himself against anything Vilkas might throw at him.

"You had that coming for far too long, _brother_ ," he spat between gritted teeth, but Vilkas stood still as stone, his face rapidly swelling, blood trickling from his nose down his chin and into the neckline of his tunic. The mer only relaxed slightly when I stood behind him, my hands on his shoulders.

"Leave it, Athis. Please."

He leant shortly against me, regained his composure, then turned stiffly on his heels. And he wore a malicious smirk.

"That was long overdue, Qhouri," he said loud enough that no one could miss his words while he went calmly back to his place, "and I'm not finished with him yet."

Vilkas flinched when I touched his chin and examined his face. "You need to see a healer," I muttered, "just let me stop the bleeding first." He endured the healing without complaint, but when Farkas took him by the elbow, he broke free. His gaze ran through the room, over the faces of the Companions, teeth clenched and hands balled into whiteknuckled fists, and finally met mine. Hard and icy, full of pride and determination... and something that was only for me. Hope, trust and gratitude... and the iron will to fight through this. He would not back out, not from them and not from me. I bit my lip and averted my eyes.

"Just gonna wash," he grunted, "gimme a second."

I took a deep breath and steeled myself before I went back to my place.

"Move on, Torvar," I shooed him onto the next chair before I took his, then I looked into every single face assembled around me. I felt the tension in the air, the surprise and the doubts in my siblings.

"Vilkas will join us because I want him to join us. If one of you has a problem with this… with him, or with me… feel free to take it out on us. But not here, and not today. Please."

Nobody moved and nobody left, even if it was only because they were simply too curious to miss how the night would develop further. And when the twins finally joined us, Vilkas took deliberately the place between his brother and Athis. It took an endless, incredibly awkward moment of silence, but when nothing happened at all, people returned finally to their drinks. And it didn't take long until Vilkas was drawn into the conversations of his brother with Athis and Torvar, though forced and taciturn. But it was a start.

Only when he turned to a nearly sleeping Njada and asked her if her burns had been treated well, something more than shallow banter between drinking buddies shone through. Njada just nodded drowsily, but Athis eyed the Companion's bruised face over the brim of his tankard. "You know, Vilkas," he said, "Qhouri is a pretty lousy healer, not only compared to Danica. You should really go to the temple and get that pretty face of yours fixed."

"I think I earned it, greyskin," Vilkas answered, his voice constrained by the injury, "and it will heal anyway."

Not a trace of amusement was in Athis' voice. "Yes, you did, and much more than that." He took a deep gulp, then he lifted his tankard. "Drinking helps too. You should hurry up, we've quite a lead."


	12. Alduin's Bane

Relief surged through me as we stood in the door and watched after the man walking towards the market place. He didn't look back, and I relaxed into Farkas' arms that were slung around my waist. His brother was finally on his way to Jorrvaskr.

Vilkas had been taciturn about his conversation with Kodlak, but he returned to the hall and had asked us explicitly to leave him alone. I complied gladly. Now it was his turn to make the next steps to become a part of the Companions again, and I could understand that he didn't want our intervention. But I had a good feeling about it. He wouldn't screw it up, and I could finally leave this stage behind.

I was glad to be rid of him, and that we could stay behind in Breezehome. I missed my siblings, the lighthearted chatter and carefree daily routine, their friendship and the feeling of belonging. Life seemed so simple in Jorrvaskr, easy and carefree. But I didn't want to take the time to get involved into their everyday business, and I couldn't pretend any more that I was only a Companion. Alduin had taken priority, the scroll Kodlak had taken into his custody the next step towards him. And I had to hurry up.

The Throat of the World loomed in the back of my mind like it loomed over Whiterun during these few days that I allowed myself to rest, distant and still always present. It was an obstacle on my way to Alduin that had to be overcome, and at the same time it was a promise of the things that lay behind it. Life, future, family. Terms that had always been vague and unspecified, things we never dared to put into words.

But now our togetherness had gotten a new quality, shifted towards a future that had become tangible.

We didn't make concrete plans, not like other parents-to-be probably would do it. No discussions about names or what changes in the house would be necessary, no preparations. It was too early for that, too much stood between us and this family we wanted to become. But I sensed it in Farkas' reverence when he ran his palms over my belly, in his amusement over the weird eating habits I indulged myself in, in his eagerness to spoil me and in his sheepish smile when he came back from a trip to the market and had instead spent a fortune on a whole stack of life detection scrolls.

"I wanna see what's happening in you," he mumbled, and from that day on he used one every single morning before we got up. The unbridled happiness that lit up his face with this little ritual accompanied us through the days.

Breezehome became my home over these few days, a refuge the rest of the world was only allowed to enter when we invited it in, something that only belonged to Farkas and me.

But of course we couldn't absent ourselves forever, and when I had finally convinced Farkas that a full week of laziness was enough and that we really had to leave, we went up to Jorrvaskr in the evening. I wanted to get some things from my room, and it was silly anyway that we avoided the hall just because Vilkas was there.

Nonetheless I was nervous when we stood in front of the doors, which was even sillier. Farkas gave me crooked grin. "If there had been a funeral in the meantime, we'd have heard it," he said and pushed the doors open. But everything was like it had always been, a group of Companions sitting at the fire, eating, drinking and chatting, Vignar having his dinner together with Olfina and Brill.

We were greeted with a good-natured cheer. "About time," Njada said drily, "didn't know that pregnancy makes you so lazy."

"It doesn't," I laughed, "but I earned it."

" _You_ did. But I didn't mean you."

"Dunno. Farkas looks pretty worn out," Athis chimed in with a grin, shifting to make room for us. We pulled our chairs into the round.

"Don't ask," my husband said. "That woman eats nothing but pickles. Five times a day. The whole house reeks of vinegar."

"That's not true!" I said indignantly. I ate other things too. Dry bread, for example. I craved dry bread, and it was good against the heartburn that plagued me. But I also craved the sour, fresh prickling of spiced vinegar on my tongue. One of the reasons that had lured me to Jorrvaskr was that Tilma's cucumbers with dill and mustard seeds were simply the best, and now was the time of year when the shelves in her storage rooms were packed tight with sealed jars.

But despite the outward normality and the light-hearted banter, there was a tension in the air of which I wasn't sure if it had been there before or if we had caused it. I felt the curious looks of Vorstag and Olfina, noticed Ria's unusual tight frown and how she seemed to avoid to speak with me directly. The conversation wasn't as easy-going as I was used to, contained little teases and quips that were only just not vicious enough to hurt, but unnecessary and obviously aimed to offend. And they were careful with the topics we spoke about, no one mentioning Blackreach and the weeks of my absence, and it was as if Vilkas didn't even exist.

We never had to be careful what to say. Not inside these halls, not in this company, but now the conversation stalled over and over again, awkwardly, as if there was a threshold no one wanted to cross. Farkas felt it too, his hand on my knee a heavy weight of reassurance, but it also intensified the sense of detachment.

"Okay," I said finally, putting my goblet on the table. "Would someone please tell me what's going on here? Where's Vilkas?"

"Who cares?" Ria blurted out. I gave her an incredulous look. She had balled her fists, staring defiantly at me. "He can rot in Oblivion! _You_ should have let him rot!"

It became instantly quiet, as if everybody had only waited for this to be voiced. I lowered my head, breathing deeply to calm myself. Now had arisen what I wanted to avoid at all cost - that I had to justify myself for Vilkas.

Farkas pulled back his hand and bent forward. "Qhouri doesn't have to explain herself to you, Ria," he said sharply.

"But she should. She brought him back!" Her lips were pressed into a stubborn line, and she answered his stare with a flaring challenge.

"It wasn't my decision that he's here," I said.

"No, it was Kodlak's," she spat. "As if that mattered. As if you didn't talk him into it!"

"And what if I did? You wanna judge me for making my peace with him?"

"Yes." Her gaze turned into icy, bitter hostility. I had never seen her like this. "What about our peace? He nearly destroyed Jorrvaskr, and this is not just your home. You? You give a shit about us. You hole yourself up with your husband and only drop by to get a pat on the back. And now we have to deal with that bastard just because he killed a few Falmer for you?"

Farkas shot up. "You have no idea what you're talking about!" he shouted at her.

"And everybody knows that for you, your precious brother always comes first, even before your wife! Do you even care what he did to her?" she yelled back.

"Ria!" Aela thundered, "shut up!"

"No, I won't, and you won't make me!" The young woman leaped to her feet with so much force that her braids flew around her face and her chair fell over behind her. "This is _sick_! _You_ are sick, and I won't bear to live with him under one roof!" She ran down the stairs, the door to the living quarters slamming shut with a bang.

It became deadly quiet in the large room, a cold, oppressive silence that lay like chilly fog on my mind. No one dared to say a word, no one dared to look me in the eyes. I buried my forehead in my palms as Farkas' arm slung protectively around my shoulder.

Aela finally cleared her throat. "She didn't mean it like that," she said quietly.

My head shot up. "Oh yes, she did. She thinks I give a shit, that we're selfish, lazy and presumptuous and that Vilkas is vermin not worth the gore under her fingernails. And I wonder if you all agree with her."

"This came all pretty sudden," Njada said hesitantly. "Can't you understand that we're... suspicious? That it's not easy to have him dumped here as if nothing has happened while you keep away?"

"Oh yes, I can. I was just naïve enough to believe you'd be able to deal with it. With him, when even I could. I thought I could concentrate on Alduin now. But you don't even try." I clenched my teeth as I looked into the round, into the perplexed, embarrassed faces of my siblings. "You all know that you can speak up, and you know that Kodlak will listen. To each of you. But that would mean you'd have to listen as well. Instead..." I sighed. "All I wanna know right now is... where is he?"

I saw shoulders twitch and heads lower. They took too long to answer. Worry and anger puckered my mouth.

A growl formed in Farkas' chest. "Where is my brother?"

"Out. On a job." Aela's voice was low. I tensed, but she didn't give me a chance to ask. "Yes, he's alone. He left too fast to give us opportunity..."

"Opportunity?" I flared up, "you let him go alone and blame it on opportunity? Who doesn't give a shit here?"

"It's just a criminal chase through the Pale," Aela said in a placating tone.

I glared at her. "Isn't that nice! A walk in the park, such a chase. Nothing can happen when you're all on your own. And perhaps we're lucky and he stumbles over a few Silver Hand, eh?" To see her blanch filled me with satisfaction.

"No Silver Hand."

A gush of cold air hit my heated face as the door opened. Vilkas wore his Blades armour, he was dirty, wet and pale from exhaustion, but he entered the hall with firm steps and let a thick pouch drop in front of Aela. "The payment. I know you don't like to deal with Skald."

His gaze was icy as it wandered over the people at the table, his lips curling in contempt. "You know... I thought you'd take it out on me. I thought you'd make me pay, fight me and make my life a living hell, and I would have put up with it, because every one of you has reasons enough. But that you let it out on her now... that you let that brat kick out against Qhouri because none of you has the balls to say stuff to my face... that's gross." He bared his teeth in a derisive snarl. "No one here is as entitled to respect and support as she is. No one. And what does she want? The occasional pat on the back from those who call themselves her siblings. Nothing more. But you... you deny her even that. You sit here in your comfortable, safe little hall, live your comfortable, safe little lives and dare to accuse _her_ not to care."

He was quiet for a moment and took in the dumbfounded faces of the Companions - including mine and Farkas'. I was speechless. A small, nearly gentle smile broke the scowl when his eyes met mine. "You were right, Qhouri. Your mercy is worth nothing. But I won't take any more steps of my own if you have to pay for them."

He shouldered his pack and turned away, but instead to descend to the living quarters, he went around the table and the fireplace to the back door. Only in the last possible moment, a second before the door clapped shut, it was Torvar of all people who rose and called after him.

"Vilkas!"

The man turned stiffly, his face unmoved, ready to lash out again. "Torvar?"

He seemed to have difficulties to bring himself to speak, his eyes flitting through the room. Finally he blurted out, "Silent Moons? Tomorrow?"

Vilkas only arched an eyebrow, but his shoulders sagged – only a bit – and his whiteknuckled grip on the handle loosened as the men locked eyes. Finally he gave a curt nod. "With sunrise. Sober."

Torvar wore a sheepish grin as he lowered himself on his seat again and took a long gulp from his tankard. "Ria will hate me," he muttered.

I stared at him and shook my head, trying to collect my thoughts. What was going on here? All of them were pissed at Vilkas – of course they were, what did I expect? - and in extension at Farkas and me. This hostility was something I hadn't expected, though, and even less that it would be Ria to freak out like that. Vilkas was furious – for me. Not without reason, but they had reasons too. Plenty. And Farkas was seething, ready to punch everyone to Oblivion who dared to say a single wrong word.

And I was confused and tired. This was a disaster, but they would have to deal it out among themselves. I wanted to kiss Torvar for his sudden, unexpected initiative. They would hunt bandits together, and perhaps it would lead to something more. And if it didn't because Vilkas was his usual charming self or Torvar behaved especially stupid – I couldn't help it. I wouldn't be here.

I stood up, rubbing my palm over my face. "We should go home."

"Yeah. I'll fetch your stuff tomorrow." Farkas' arm slung around my shoulder.

"When will you leave?" Aela asked.

"In two days." Perhaps we'd just leave next day. The sooner the better.

"I'll see you." I wasn't sure if it was a threat or a promise.

Aela came by while Farkas was at Jorrvaskr to fetch the Scroll and the stuff I wanted to move from my room there to Breezehome, mostly clothes and books. And she brought Ria. The two women stood stiffly in the main room while I put the kettle over the fire and opened a bottle of ale for them.

"Gosh!" I said, "sit down, for Kyne's sake!"

It took an awkward moment of silence when they had settled, but I didn't have the patience to beat around the bush. We would discuss this, and they – especially Ria – would either listen to me, or they wouldn't. I wouldn't let them talk me into remorse for bringing Vilkas back. "Okay. Let's get over with this. We have to speak about Vilkas, don't we?"

Contrition flickered over Ria's face, but she didn't avoid my gaze and nodded. "I'm sorry, Qhouri," she blurted out. "I shouldn't have said that. But I don't get it! How could you let him come home?"

I gave her a feeble grin. "To get him off my heels. Thought I could pull it off." She didn't find it funny, and I became serious as well, clearing my throat. "Because that's what Jorrvaskr is, Ria. His home. And I didn't let him. I had to drag him, screaming and kicking. But... I believe he belongs here, and that we need him."

"We don't! We did just fine without him!"

"No, we didn't. Kodlak needs him, Farkas needs him, I've seen the pile of unfulfilled contracts, and honestly... your footwork is still lousy."

"That's all true," Aela chimed in, "but you know it's not reason enough. And some of us need an explanation for your actions."

"Yes, I know." I looked sternly at my shield-sister. "But it's not so easy to explain. It has taken me months to get to this point. But Vilkas is not a bad man, Ria. He is and will always be an ass, but he's not a bad man."

Her voice was shrill and incredulous. "You call that _not bad_ , everything he did? He's disgusting!"

"What he did was disgusting, that's true and he knows it. I haven't forgotten it, and he hasn't either. But you know that's not the whole Vilkas. Remember how you lived with him. He trained you, and I know it wasn't always fun, but he taught you a lot. And when you went out on a job with him... it wasn't fun either, but you always knew that you'd come home safe. That you'd never be in danger as long as he had your back."

I saw the doubt in her features, wide eyes watching me full of disbelief. For her, everything was black and white. Vilkas had failed her too, and she had condemned him for it.

"Don't think it was easy to deal with him. We have fought to the blood, I nearly beat him to death, he has hit me and I have shouted at him. But... well, now we're fine, and how we got there... it's something only between him and me, Ria. I wish you could trust me in this."

"I just can't understand how you don't hate him. How you can think he belongs here."

"I did. You have no idea." My hands clenched in my lap. In Morthal, Vilkas had said that I was selfish when I considered his offer. And in a way, he was right. "It eats you up, you know? When you hate someone so much that his death would be a mercy, when you'd give yourself up just to see him suffer... it can destroy you. It darkens everything else, and it takes all your strength. I wish you that you'll never learn how to hate like that."

"But you left it behind."

"We both did. And we had help."

"He made pretty clear how he stands to you," Aela chimed in with a chuckle.

Ria's head jerked around. "He did?"

"Yep. He came back after you stormed off, called you a brat and told us to piss off and leave Qhouri alone."

"Divines..." She buried her face in her palms, and it became quiet for long moments. But then she lifted her head, and her cheeks dimpled with a small grin. "That sounds a lot like Vilkas."

I had to laugh. "Yeah."

She had relaxed a bit, her hands folded loosely on the table. "I miss you, Qhouri," she said with a feeble smile. "It would be easier if you were here. But you aren't, and Farkas isn't either..." She shrugged. It wasn't meant as an accusation.

"We can't help it, Ria." Farkas blundered through the door, a heavy sack slung over his shoulder and a crate full of books jammed under his arm. He dropped everything at the bottom of the stairs, pushed off his cloak and fell on the seat beside me. "Qhouri has a job to do that is more important than our work."

"I know you think that I just drop by to get a pat on the back." The way her cheeks reddened made me smile. "And in a way, that's true. I know it wasn't fair to sneak him in like that, and I don't want you to leave me alone. I'd like to think of Jorrvaskr as a place I can come back to when all this is over and done. A comfortable, safe little hall where I can live a comfortable, safe little life with all of you. Including Vilkas."

"It will be pretty weird not to see you fight on every occasion."

"Don't worry, we will," I grinned. "We'll find plenty of reasons."

"He'll have to get through me first," Farkas growled with mock anger.

I nudged my elbow into his ribs. "You let me deal with your brother on my own."

Ria rose and slung her cloak around her shoulders. "First we're gonna deal with him. You don't worry and hurry up, okay?"

"I will. I promise." I pulled her into a tight hug. She was young, but strong and reliable. They all were.

Later that day, when we had both packed, taken long, relaxing hot baths and eaten together and I lay with a book sprawled on the bed, ready to enjoy a last lazy evening, Farkas fell down beside me and snuggled against my side.

"You okay, love?"

I had to grin. He had asked this question at least a dozen times since we left Jorrvaskr the day before, as if he couldn't believe it when I told him every time that I was.

"Yep." Of course I was. Jorrvaskr was fine, Vilkas was fine, and now I would go and read the Elder Scroll. The next step, and we would deal with the outcome when it came to it. I turned to the side and slung my arm around his waist. "Stop fretting, okay?"

"Okay." A mischievous grin appeared on his face. "I got something for you. A bribe."

"A bribe? What do you have to bribe me into?"

I recognised the jar he placed between us at once. It was one of Tilma's, and when I lifted the lid, the delicious smell of dill and vinegar rose to my nose. "Pickles!"

"You mad if I leave you alone tonight?"

I cocked my head. "What are you up to?"

"I'd like to see Vilkas. He'll be back with Torvar by now."

Of course. The brothers had barely had opportunity to speak with each other, not once since we had come to Skyhaven. They had either fought and yelled at each other, or I had been between them. It was high time that they spent some time together, and who knew when he'd have the chance again.

I waved towards the door, already chewing. "You're dismissed. Give him my greetings."

"You just want them all for yourself," he said with a grin.

"Exactly." He scrambled off the mattress and tied a pouch to his belt. When he leant over me, braced on both sides of my head, I slung my arms around his neck.

"You know why I'm fine?" His eyes shone as he shook his head. "Because you're always there when I need you."

He kissed me softly. "Love you, woman."

* * *

It had been a horrible climb, the Throat of the World covered in thick, low-hanging clouds we had to cross through. They released a cold, drizzling rain that had become snow higher up, and more than once we nearly lost the slippery, iced path in the thick fog, despite the steps, the stonemarkers and the shrines to lead us.

But it was our goal that filled my thoughts while I set step before step. Finally I was on my way to fulfil the dreaded task I had kicked down the road for so long, and all the reasons why I had hesitated for all those months wormed themselves back into my mind. I had not really an idea what awaited me when I'd use the scroll. Yes, the most obvious danger was simply to go crazy. But even if that didn't happen... what would happen?

Would that thing really cast me back in time, physically, all of me including my body, like it had done it with Alduin? And how did it know exactly where – or when – to drop me off? And if just my mind wandered off – what would happen to my body if something happened to me during that journey? It was a war I would visit after all, I had to witness the Tongues fight against Alduin. What if my presence had an influence on that fight? And what would happen in my present when I disturbed the wound in time Alduin's banishment had left, when I used that hole in the fabric of eternity?

I had no idea. But all these possibilities and vaguenesses filled my mind to the brim, and the only reason I hastened forwards were the answers I'd eventually get.

It was deep in the night when we finally stumbled through the heavy doors of High Hrothgar. Arngeir greeted us in the main hall, taciturn as always, and led us to the guest quarters where a meal and a fire already were already waiting for us.

I did not sleep. We laid ourselves to rest after a sparse meal, both so exhausted that we barely tasted any more what we ate, but sleep fled me. I was just tired, and despite my aching bones I couldn't bring my mind to find the rest I needed. It was simply too silent in our cosy room, the thick walls blocking out every sound, and the silence lay upon me like a thick, heavy coat that threatened to choke me. Once I had craved for this silence, had found solace in it, but these times were over. Now I felt harried and trapped, and it just made my thoughts run around in even more frantic circles. There was nothing to hold on to, not even Farkas' deep breathing was able to soothe me.

He stirred when I shifted again and again, trying to find a position that would allow me to relax.

"What's the matter, dear?" he said drowsily, his hand coming up and stroking my shoulder.

"Can't sleep," I whispered, "it's too quiet."

He didn't react at first, but then he turned around and lit a candle on the bedside table. A small smile played on his lips. "You could just tell me that you want me to practice bedtime story telling."

I chuckled at his answer. He was so sweet. And his head was so obviously occupied by other things than dragons. "You can practice as much as you want, your stories won't become any more suitable," I snickered. "Not as long as you let Torvar mentor you."

"Not?" he said with feigned astonishment. "Wait… in that case I'll have to make them up myself. Still better than reading."

I turned to him and put my arms around his neck. "They're still suitable for me, love," I whispered, just to see that cheeky, cheerful grin flare up.

"No, they're far too exciting for you. Turn around," he commanded and pulled down the blanket before he straddled my thighs. "You just need to calm down."

His warm palms on my back were relaxing my body and soothing my mind at the same time, searching for tensions and knots in my muscles and loosening them with slow, firm strokes. He knew me so well, knew where not to touch because I would thrash out from the tickling and which spots always hurt most. He advanced methodically, started with his thumbs working my neck in small circles, worked over tight shoulders and upper arms, back to my shoulder blades and to the sides of my chest before he continued with the strained muscle strands along my spine, again starting in the nape of my neck and working down.

I literally purred when I felt tensions dissolve I didn't even know I had developed. "If I hadn't married you already, I'd do so right now," I sighed in bliss when a particularly obstinate knot vanished under the firm pressure of his fingers. He chuckled and leant forwards, his warm breath wafting through my hair.

"Better?" he whispered and hovered above me, weight held by his forearms, just his face resting against my neck. Despite the chill in the air, his body radiated an incredible warmth.

It became silent again, no sound disturbing the calmness that spread through me.

Only when he shifted and released me of his weight I dared to move again and pulled him to my side. "Come here," I murmured, begging for contact and he closed his arms around me, nestled skin against skin, and his eyes rested on my face in a silent invitation. More than that, a plea.

"Please," he whispered and lowered his forehead to mine as I drew him closer. I felt the wolf reach out and with the wolf the man, and we both let our guards down, pulled away the barriers that usually sheltered our senses from the unrestrained impact of the outside. Now we let each other in without timidity or restraint, and our minds met in a way that was possible only between the two of us. I was with him just like he was with me, the borders of our selves blurring during this moment of sharing. A bond of unconditional trust, the ultimate closeness and the ultimate confession.

We were both scared, and no jest, no joke could hide it any more. We bared all our fears to each other, of all the unnamed dangers threatening and all the fights still waiting for us. And those for our future, for our child, for our world, for everything that we lived for. That we'd die for, if we had to.

They were different and still so similar, and nothing could take them away from us. But we could share them to make them lighter and more bearable, and besides our fears, there was still so much more. Faith in our strength and hope for the bit of luck we'd need, the determination to stay together, to go this way to the end and the knowledge that we could rely on each other. And above everything the love we felt for each other, flaring up in unbridled joy that we were still alive and that we were together, over and over again and every day anew.

We renewed our bond, marvelling again about what we took for granted so often, abandoned ourselves to each other. The silence resolved in laughter and lust, our bodies merging like our minds, little whimpers and breathless touches unfolding the last knots that lay tangled in my stomach.

The view when we left High Hrothgar to its courtyard next morning was as unexpected as breathtaking. I was used to see down the slopes of the mountain and into the distance, over the foaming waters of the White River and the plains of Whiterun Hold, Dragonsreach recognisable far away like a puppet house. And if the weather was particularly clear and calm and Eorlund particularly diligent, sometimes I could see the smoke column standing over the Skyforge.

Nothing of all this was visible now, no landscape, no river, no streets or buildings. The clouds we had crossed the day before still hung like a collar around the peak, separating us from the world beneath, concealing everything that could be used as an anchor for my gaze. It was a blanket of white, forming a scenery of rugged mountains, valleys and gently rolling plains, inviting me to explore it.

"It's beautiful," I whispered in awe, and Arngeir answered with a low chuckle.

"Yes, it is," he said, "and it makes it easy to forget that we're still bound to Nirn." He pointed up to the peak, the snow blinding my sight in the sunlight. "Breathe and focus, Dovahkiin. Paarthurnax is waiting for you."

It was easier this time to reach Paarthurnax, we went with lighter packs, I knew better how to pace myself, and Farkas had memorised the way and could tell how far we still had to go. But I still had to fight the mist blocking our path with everything I had, every bit of my strength and concentration set on this task, and I was again exhausted to the bones when we finally reached the peak.

"Leave her alone, Paarthurnax," Farkas grunted as he helped me to a sheltered ledge and handed me a healing potion against the searing pain in my throat. Despite the exhaustion, I had to grin at his flippant approach of the ancient dragon.

"Some day he's gonna roast you," I croaked.

"No, he won't. The Dragonborn's gonna protect me," he grinned back and drew a leather-wrapped package out of my knapsack. "Here. Go when you're ready." He laid the scroll carefully into my suddenly trembling hands.

"I wish you could come with me," I said, scrambling to my feet with a groan. "Perhaps with the two of us, we could have killed Alduin right back then, and that whole stunt with these scrolls wouldn't have been necessary?"

Something was wrong with this thought, although I didn't grasp instantly what it was exactly. But Farkas stood before me, his hands on my shoulders, and something worked in him, a deep frown of concentration creasing his forehead.

"No," he said finally, "if Alduin had been killed back then we wouldn't need a Dragonborn now. And if you weren't Dragonborn, perhaps you also wouldn't be a Companion. Perhaps you'd have never been born at all. Perhaps we'd have never met."

Holy Kyne, this man found something positive in literally everything.

"Dovahkiin!" Paarthurnax' voice rang over the mountain. It seemed he became impatient.

My hands palmed Farkas' face. "I love you, husband," I muttered, and he bowed down with a smile and kissed me, soft and lingering. "I know. Go and learn some words, I'll be here when you come back."

It was always he who had to wait for me to come back. It wasn't fair.

"You really have it. The Kel – the Elder Scroll!" The white dragon didn't wait until I had reached him, sitting on his usual lookout on top of the wordwall. "Tiid kreh… qalos. Time shudders at its touch."

I had to tilt my head into my neck when I finally stood before him, and I felt as tiny as at the first time we met. Paarthurnax' obvious excitement didn't diminish my awe in the presence of his mighty appearance at all.

"No question is left, you are truly doom-driven." His head bent down, and I thought to identify curiosity and excitement on his features. "Kogaan Akatosh! You truly live with Akatosh's blessing, Dovahkiin, and the very bones of the earth are at your disposal."

I wouldn't tell him that I had to dig through exactly these bones to get the blasted thing. Holding the Scroll firmly pressed to my chest, I bowed briefly.

"Greetings, Paarthurnax." But he didn't have the patience for formalities any more. Even his very own eternity could come to an end, and he wanted this step to be done.

"Go, Dovahkiin, do not delay. Fulfil your destiny. Take the Scroll to the Time-Wound."

The Time-Wound. My gaze wandered to the point where his snout pointed, on the other side of the Wordwall. It didn't look different from any other spot in this place, but perhaps it was nothing I could discern with my mortal senses.

I swallowed and cleared my throat until Paarthurnax turned his attention back to me, as if astonished that I still stood in front of him.

"Do you know… can you tell me what will happen?"

The dragon's head swang once from one side to the other, his flews lifting in a draconic smile.

"No. Alduin won't miss the signs of what's happening here today, that's for certain. But you are Dovahkiin. Don't fear."

It was his confidence, the confidence of one of the eldest beings on Nirn in a mortal girl that let me finally set one foot before another. And when I reached the spot he had indicated, I could indeed feel it. A ripple, barely perceptible, like gentle waves of water flowing over my skin. Just that it wasn't a feeling… it was something else, a sensation my body wasn't made to process. We mortals were bound to the moment we lived in, with no connection to the future and no ties to the past but our frail memories.

But this was a ripple in time, a disturbance in the fabric of eternity. And somehow I could feel it, and with the harmless piece of parchment in my hands, I'd be able to use it.

Slowly I unfolded the package Kodlak had so carefully tied up, and I forced myself not to think back to Jorrvaskr, to concentrate on my fingers busy with the tight knots of the strips. The soft leather fell away and I held the scroll in my hand, smooth wood against my palms, and the time to hesitate was over. The weird not-feeling became more noticeable when I unrolled the parchment, tugging at my senses in a way that shouldn't have affected them at all, and when my gaze fell on the lines and signs I could _read_ no more than I could _feel_ the time around me, it was over in a blink of an eye. Time was light I didn't see, a touch I didn't sense, a tunnel around my vision pulling me forward. I was drawn away, away from the mountain yet staying in place, and although I was gone, I still knelt in the snow at the top of the world. Like I had done it a second ago. Or an era ago. Or an eternity ago.

There were dragons, an army of them circling around the peak of the mountain, colourful wings darkening the sky, their shrieking roars earshattering, fire and ice lighting up the mountaintop in red and white blasts that blinded the eyes before it fell into near darkness again. And beneath them fought people, Nords in ancient armours I had seen plentiful in their tombs, screaming and shouting, slashing and dying.

This wasn't just a fight… it was a battle. The last great battle of the Dragon Wars, where both parties threw in everything they had left after this long war, the battle that had to bring a decision. I saw people die in fire and ice and fangs, saw dragons fall from the sky, the membranes of their wings shredded by arrows, fireballs and the claws of their own brethren. Because this wasn't just a battle of mortals against their ancient foes – I saw dragons fight other dragons, and the remaining dragon priests stood by the side of their masters and battled with magic and Shouts against their fellow Nords.

The scene was blurred before my eyes, as if I observed it through the wavering heat above a fire, the alien signs from the scroll still swirling at the edge of my vision, and I wasn't sure if it were indeed my own senses that followed the events. But although the signs held no meaning, I understood what I saw, and that meant at least that I hadn't lost my mind – for the moment. My gaze was fixed on the fight before me, three warriors bringing down a dragon in front of the wordwall with steel and magic before they gathered to await their next foe. They stood nearly on my toes when they discussed the proceedings of the fight, just that my toes obviously weren't there. As was the rest of me.

The whole sensation of being in-between this slaughtering, to see, hear and smell something I shouldn't be able to see, hear and smell and to know that at the same time I knelt in the snow under the watchful eyes of Paarthurnax and Farkas – it was deeply disturbing, made it hard to concentrate on the events, my attention additionally distracted by all that dying around me. Especially when the slender woman with the exclusive, golden-hilted sword couldn't stop boasting how many dragons had already bloodied her blade that day, the brute with the greataxe complained that Alduin didn't show up and the old man in the grey robe scolded his fellow combatants for being naïve.

I thought they were all naïve. They had no idea what they were doing with that insane plan of theirs. And Alduin would come.

I smelled him before I saw him, the stench of molten metal, seething blood and rotting flesh. And I heard his laughter, malicious, sinister and devious, a voice I would never forget.

Helgen. Kynesgrove. Memories of the future flooded me, blurred together with the signs on the scroll in front of my vision, images behind my closed lids that remained the same through the ages and were terrifying real – fiery red eyes, wings darker than a clouded night sky, a mass of muscles under dull black scales and spikes and an aura of purest hate, made to bring death and destruction.

I wasn't there. He couldn't see me, he could do me no harm, he couldn't know that I'd witness his demise. At least his temporary demise.

"He is beyond our strength." Perhaps the old man was right, and perhaps Arngeir had been right as well. Perhaps Alduin wasn't meant to be defeated, and perhaps I was the one who was naïve and presumptuous.

When I opened my eyes again, Alduin sat on top of the wordwall, on Paarthurnax' favourite spot. His voice was dripping with malice and aplomb.

"You will die in terror, mortals, knowing your final fate… to feed my power when I come for you in Sovngarde!"

"JOOR ZAH FRUL!"

Finally! This was Dragonrend, the Shout of mortals that made the dragon suffer mortality. The old man had shouted the words, and they burnt themselves into my brain in blazing letters when blue flames engulfed the dragon's body with a force even he could not cast off.

Alduin's scream was earshattering, anger and fury sounding in it, disbelief… and a hint of fear.

"Nivahriin joorre! What have you done? What twisted Words have you created? Tahrodiis Paarthurnax! My teeth to his neck!"

He berated the mortals who had bound him to earth as cowards, helpless in his wrath, and the warrior-woman just laughed at him. "I see it in your eyes, worm." She approached him with her sword drawn, shoulders squared, straight and bold. "You feel fear, for the first time in your life. Feel the fear!"

But the fight had only just begun, and the Worldeater was a terrible foe, even when rooted to the ground. He was unbelievably fast and strong, shifted his huge mass around as if it weighed nothing, the elegance he'd show on his wings even visible now. No place was safe from his fangs, his claws and his tail as he turned and shifted, the violent flaps of his wings sweeping his enemies away.

But the three warriors were relentless, they picked themselves up every time they were brought down, avoided his deadly breath, his teeth and claws in a foolhardy dance of wit, strength and stamina, the dragon held down infinitely by the shouts of the mage.

Until the warrior lost his footing, fell and evaded the fire blast only with a swift roll, cowering into a ball with his shield covering his back. It was the distraction of a single, fateful second when the woman followed the movement of her companion and didn't notice the dragon's huge head shooting forwards and towards her.

The sickening crunch when his fangs closed around her body ended her scream, and she didn't feel it any more when he hurled her down the slopes of the mountain.

"Feed me in Sovngarde!" The dragon's roar was filled with satisfaction.

"No, damn you!" It was a scream of despair and hopelessness the warrior let out, but he resumed his attacks with new vigour, hate and determination speaking out of every swing of his greatsword. But his rashness served a purpose. He knew now that they couldn't win this fight, and he wanted to gain his fellow the necessary time.

"Felldir, it's no use! Use the Scroll! Now!"

Without a second thought the robed man backed off, away from the fight, away from the dragon who was bound by Dragonrend and the attacks of the warrior. He came towards me, and I saw him grip the scroll stuck into his belt, saw him unroll it before my eyes.

His evocation was already fading when the signs took possession of me.

"Hold, Alduin on the Wing! Sister Hawk, grant us your sacred breath to make this contract heard! Begone, World-Eater! By words with older bones than your own we break your perch on this age and send you out! You are banished! Alduin, we shout you out from all our endings unto the last!"

Alduin screamed in rage and horror, struggled against the force that overwhelmed him, his refusal to accept his banishment obvious. But his last roar was triumphant, and although I didn't understand the words, I knew that he realised in time that he wasn't defeated, that he would return. A roar of victory and malice followed me through the eternity of light and darkness and nothing, back into my present.

The roar was real, as was the presence behind it, the feral screams from past and present mingling into a single sound, carrying an amount of purest hate, malignancy and dominance that had had an eternity to grow and ripen.

It was as real as the snow beneath my knees and my palms, as the weakness in my bones and the veil before my eyes, as the hands tugging at my shoulders.

"Qhouri! Get up!"

Someone stood behind me, watched me, and as soon as I opened my eyes, strong hands grabbed my arms and shoved me away, out of the way of a deadly fireblast.

The sky had darkened, impenetrable, unnatural clouds circling in a gloomy maelstrom over the peak of the Throat of the World. The shadow looming on top of the wordwall was even darker though, only hateful crimson eyes gleaming as bright spots in the dim light.

Alduin. Alduin was here.

"Dovahkiin!" It was Paarthurnax' voice, so different from his brother's, the white dragon circling above the place. "Use the Shout! Use Dragonrend!"

But I still struggled to gain back my senses that didn't work as usual. Alduin's roar blasted in a cacophony through my ears, but worse was the veil shadowing my sight, everything I set my gaze on blurred, colourless and at the edges framed by the flickering signs from the scroll. When I fought myself to my feet, my knees threatened to give away under me. Only Farkas' firm grip held me upright, he had his weapon already drawn, his eyes searching the sky.

I followed his gaze, blinking and fighting to clear my head, and gasped in awe. The dragons fought, light against darkness, both with fire that illuminated the uncanny clouds. They circled each other, a mad chase over the sky, vanished behind the flank of the mountain just to reappear somewhere else, clawed and bit and shouted, every word a word of power, even if they just exchanged insults.

"Use it! He's too strong on the wind!" Paarthurnax' cry thrummed like a bell in my ears, and I tried to focus, tried to follow Alduin's black form long enough to hit him with my voice.

"JOOR ZAH FRUL!"

It hit, the blue flames engulfing the black body, and we watched in awe how Alduin's circles became less regular, confused, clumsy, how he left his brother alone and slowly descended to earth as if someone pulled him down on a string. I panted heavily, still not at the height of my senses again, and felt Farkas' grip tighten. He turned me around, his gaze searching my face.

Fear and determination stood in his, and with sudden impact I realised what was awaiting us. This wasn't an ordinary foe, not even an ordinary dragon. Nobody had bested Alduin before... and it was so dark around us, the gloomy twilight threatening all on its own.

"Go, please. You can't fight him," I whispered, but he shook his head.

"Never. Now you need me." His mouth closed over mine, and for a single moment the mountain, the dragons, the darkness vanished, nothing was left but his taste, his scent and his love. "I'll have your back." A lopsided smile curled his lips, and we released each other, became Companions and shield-siblings. Nothing but the enemy mattered any more, wolfish instincts merged with wit, training and experience.

One has to be insane to fight a being like the Worldeater.

"Ruth wah nivahriin joor! The weapon of my ancient foes? You will never be their equal, arrogant little mortal, you who you call yourself Dovahkiin!"

He mocked me, the malice and superiority in his voice already his first strike.

"Hurt him, Dovahkiin, now!" Paarthurnax encouraging words let me dart forwards, nearly stumbling at first, the dragon watching my approach with amused indifference. I watched his head jerk, the black spikes around his jaw and in his neck forming dark, well-defined targets. I wielded Dragonbane after all, and I trusted my blade.

But I didn't even come close, the long neck just twitching like a whipcord from side to side, the fangs rising above me and ready to strike down. I backed off, from the corners of my eyes I saw Farkas lung for his wing while Paarthurnax circled above us, releasing blast of fire on his brother that should have molten stone. Alduin didn't even seem to feel it.

"Paarthurnax, brother… you are weak." The black monstrosity laughed at his brother, full of glee. "I am strong. Many strong souls have fed me!"

I hated this voice, dark, sonorous and still rippling my skin like the scratch of dull claws on dry wood. It hurt and chafed my insides, and he knew it.

It hurt even more when he started to shout, twisting his neck upwards, his fangs directed to the whirling clouds above us and roaring at the sky, releasing a kind of power that was entirely incomprehensible and still striked my innermost core.

Even the elements obeyed him, and the sky broke open, released molten stone and burning rocks from its depths. Deadly missiles, unaimed but hence nothing less dangerous. A single hit would crush us or burn us to ashes, and their impact was impossible to predict or avoid. And even if they didn't hit, they melted age-old snow and ice, the air soon filled with clouds of hot steam and dust that hurt in my lungs and obscured my view even more.

One has to be insane to fight the Worldeater.

But I tried. I tried with everything I had, tried to get close enough to stab him while avoiding the lightning fast attacks of his fangs and claws and his deadly blast. A few times I succeeded, just to feel Dragonbane slide off of the massive armour plates, finding no gap in his cover and no leverage for my strikes. A few times Farkas pushed me out of the way of an attack and I saved him from being shred to pieces, and once I heard him roar in triumph when he pierced through the leathery skin of Alduin's wing. The gods bless Eorlund's Skyforge steel. But the worm just shoved and swept him away with a violent flap, and it took long, far too long until he appeared again, limping and furious. And I saw Paarthurnax' fangs closing around his twitching, spiked tail, but his old teeth were dull, and his efforts just coaxed another sinister laughter from the black monstrosity.

But in the end everyone fought on his own, we lost track of each other in the steam and the darkness during this mad dance around our foe, between the falling rocks and the dragon's vicious attacks. No one had his back shielded, but we fought with the determination of despair, aware that our demise would mean final damnation. We must not die. We must not let him get away.

It was a puddle of molten water on ice that let me slip, let me stumble and fall backwards, the back of my head thudding on the ground, and for a moment I saw nothing but stars blooming into bursts of colour in a black void as the impact pierced into my brain. Tears of pain shot into my eyes, the falling rocks only blurred objects impossible to evade. A glowing orb raced towards me, I could smell the wave of burnt air running ahead of it, and for the fraction of a second I was tempted to lie still and let it crush me, to end everything within this single moment.

"Dovahkiin! Dragonrend!"

Paarthurnax' yelled plea let me twist and roll to the side, the missile striking the ground right beside my head. It burst into sharp splinters of stone and ice, piercing the skin of my face, blood running down my neck while I struggled to get up.

The blue flames were dwindling, loosening their grip on the massive body. I panted for breath, needed only a second, just one precious moment to find the air for the Shout. Alduin was breaking free, roaring his hate over the mountain, new-found strength fuelling his immortal power.

He unfolded his wings and rose on his hindlegs, his body already stretching to the sky while I sucked in that breath I needed so desperately. For a single moment, it was only he and I. He didn't fight any more. He had nothing to fear, he would do as he liked and I couldn't hinder him.

"I am Al-Du-In, Firstborn of Akatosh. I will outlast you… mortal!" It wasn't a roar. It was nearly a whisper, a sinister sound that flayed the skin from my flesh.

The muscles in his legs tensed as he got ready to lift off. I knelt before him and saw his head coming down as a blurred shade, black against the darkness of the sky, only his teeth shimmering white. He would escape and take me with him, my breath coming too slow and too weak.

"No!" An equally inhuman roar, and a flash appeared between us, shimmering bones and gleaming steel. Alduin's head shot forwards, the movement so fast it was barely visible. His fangs closed with a snap.

I had heard this sickening crunch before, and the shout became a scream.


	13. Lost

He is gone. They're both gone.

No move, no sound, no breath is left. A small trickle of red runs from the corner of his mouth down his chin and vanishes behind his ear, the snow beneath him molten from the blood that has washed the life from his body.

Just his eyes are still the same, just his soul speaks through them.

A promise. Now and forever. A promise, and a moment of eternity.

They change from silver to gold when he is drawn away. A soundless howl forms in her soul and follows him, her eternal pleading to Hircine.

The last traces of his warmth brush against her skin before dissipating, the last traces of his scent are blown away by the storm. Only cold is left, and she lets it sink into her bones.

He is gone, and her world tumbles away, out of balance and into the darkness.

One has to be insane to fight.

* * *

She stops to scream. She stops to cry. She stops to think, and she stops to remember.

She leaves him behind, the lifeless, soulless shell that he is, mangled and torn. She leaves the empty, lifeless shell of High Hrothgar, unaware of the terrified eyes in her back, sheds her armour and her skin and vanishes into the mist lying over the mountain with nothing but a trinket on her finger. She leaves him behind, and with him she leaves a life not worth living, a broken promise and a shattered dream, the memories that flail the flesh from her soul. She leaves her past and her future, and finally her mind.

The beast has no memories, she knows no guilt, no dread and no fear, she has no past and no future. She doesn't need to make sense.

She is strong and powerful, and it keeps her alive as she gets lost in the vastness of the wilderness. The maze in the valley full of broken walls and shadows becomes her hiding place, familiar in its dreadful chaos, lifeless and barren. She has killed here before and fought for her soul. Now she has lost it, but here she is safe.

She has lost something and she knows it, vague flashes of another one, once by her side, someone to share. No one is there to share with her now, she isn't used to being alone, but she doesn't know sorrow. Only the loss, an unconscious hollowness, and it stays behind when the need take over, when she loses control and hunts, kills and feeds, when she fills her empty self with the smell of fear in sweat and blood, with the taste of warm flesh and the satisfying crunch of breaking bones. She loses control easily without her pack, with no one there to tame her, and she submits to the thrill, flees into the hunt and leaves a trail of death behind. She smells and listens and tastes, but she doesn't think any more, and her prey can't escape the madness.

Memories are drowned in blood, and it doesn't matter to whom it belongs. Without the other, there are no rules any more. Rules only applied to _them_. Everything that was them is gone, and the only rule remaining is terror and the blissful haze of the death she delivers. Death that she'll give as long as it's denied to her, and she silences her own neverending scream with the screams of her prey. Naked throats, miserable, worthless, happy existences pleading for a life that she is refused.

She is hated and hunted, a wild chase through the woods and the ragged landscape of the mountains, over peaks and glaciers. She doesn't care, and they never get her. If they come too close she escapes into the shadows that are hers, and from the shadows she turns on them when they expect it least, always, and feeds on their bloodlust and on her own. Only strong prey is worthy to feed her.

The dragon is worthy prey too, he singes her fur and rips the flesh from her bones, but she doesn't feel pain. He will fall to her claws and her teeth, and she mauls through scales and thick leathery skin, crushes his bones and tears his throat apart. Two predators matching each other, it doesn't matter who bleeds as long as blood flows. In the end, he is just prey, and his flesh tastes of raw power, molten iron and sulphur. No soul touches her. No soul can touch her any more, and for a single moment she feels delight. She doesn't know what, but she has left everything behind.

She only flees once, when she hears another howl in the distance. There are others like her, she has met and fought them. But she knows this howl, and it bursts through her haze with an ache flaring up deep in her chest. She doesn't want to be hurt, not again, and the unnamed, vague terror that comes with this sound makes her whimper. Images stir the flow of sensations that fills her mind like white water in in an otherwise calm stream, pictures of others, of hunting together, feeding on the same prey and games they played, of a pack she was once part of, of a mate and of belonging. She doesn't belong, not any more, doesn't even know what it means. She has lost them, the others, the other one, somewhere and somewhen. She can't remember, doesn't know why this sound hurts her, but it does and she flees.

But she is still mortal and still has the soul of a human, and when she collapses and wakes again, she always wakes into the wrong body, into her own naked flesh, loathed and hated, left behind and unworthy to live. And when traces of consciousness force the thoughts into her mind, when hesitant fingers feel for the barely visible bulge in her belly and her stomach retches and heaves in denial, then she drowns in the dread, stays hidden between dead leaves and frozen corpses, entrenched in mud and earth and darkness. Prey may come and sniff, but she is gone, burrowed deep in the emptiness of her mind, and nothing ever dares to touch her. Then she prays that it may end, that the light won't come back, that the cold may finally finish what it started on top of the world and take her away. She prays, but she doesn't have words and doesn't know to whom, and nobody listens. The beast doesn't let her come to rest. When the hunger takes over, it saves her, every single time.

Only when she prays to the ruby-eyed idol at her finger, prays to her Lord to take her, she is at times granted mercy. Sometimes, in the hours before the cruel light of day reveals her weakness, her mind drifts off and delves into dreams where the forests are dense and the bloodmoons cast their spell over her, dreams where he waits for her and they are allowed to run together for a single short night. They hunt and are hunted, share a few precious hours under the eternal, unmoving moons, until her time is up and she wakes, left behind again. Precious hours of forgiving that is worthless in the erasing light of the sun, mercy and punishment in one. The memories emerge from the blood when she's back, and with them comes the pain, the guilt and the dread. The pain that she still breathes and lives a life that is undeserved, cursed and unwanted, the guilt that she has failed and he had to pay for her failure. And the nameless dread, senseless and wordless, but nothing less devastating. Giving it words, giving it a name would mean to give it a meaning. She can't think these words, can't face the truth of a life alone, of a life without him. It will kill her, and she turns back into mindlessness instead.

Only once, when she haunches motionless on the flank of a mountain, her never resting gaze turns south and comes to rest on a column of smoke in the distance. It rises thick and black into the air, undisturbed by the soft breeze of a bright late autumn day, catches her attention and she stills, eyes turned to that hill and that silhouette, there where she doesn't dare to go, where she'll never hunt again, where the scents and the voices haunt her. The cloud rests oily and quiet over the stone image of an eagle, and she stays and watches for as long as it lasts, on this beautiful, clear, silent evening.

It has a meaning, this cloud, almost a memory, nearly a knowledge. But when the horizon is clear again, when the sky is dark and the cold of the night wafts through her fur, she sniffs once, twice and already forgets, turns back to the many hiding places of the ruined maze where she finds shelter in shadows as empty as her soul.

Her howl echoes over the plains, wordless, mindless and twisted.

* * *

She isn't alone when consciousness emerges from exhaustion again, the moment she always fears most.

They can take her during her sleep or hunt down the beast, she doesn't care. One day they will get her, one day she will not be able to escape any more. Every circle of change and rechange weakens her body, the beast feeding from energies she doesn't replenish. One day, she will simply be gone, used to feed another predator, and nothing will be lost.

But these first moments after the awakening, when she is trapped in soft, naked, aching flesh and thoughts too clear and vivid find a grip in her mind – these are the moments of dread and madness. They try to own her, these thoughts, try to force her into reminiscence. The weaker she gets, the harder it becomes to fight them, to push them away until the beast finally overwhelms them with raw force.

Only once, when hunger and sunlight break through her stupor, that first impression isn't her own weakness. The first impression is a scent, the musky smell of natural prey, but placid and fearless… and not completely unfamiliar. A man hunches in front of her, at the edge of the narrow hollow she has scraped into the mud where she fell down. Feline ears twitching over slit eyes, watching her full of pity and intelligence. The images of a prison emerge from the depths of her mind, ruthless elven faces bent over the broken bodies of their victims, cruelty, blood and pain. So much pain, and a warrior in the shining armour of the enemy fighting by her side although he should have been broken like all the others.

But there is more, she can't prevent that her mind wanders further, and other pictures take prevalence. There is also gleaming steel and a smile, flickering lights on the horizon and a soft beard under her fingertips, eyes bright like the stars above them and the taste of lips touching hers, and she screams and cowers and fights against the images this stranger conjures so effortless, struggles to escape and to force the change into her weak, abused flesh. She never had to fight to bring the beast forth. Why now? He is prey, but he simply watches, unafraid, stoic.

"Kharjo knows you… wolf." Raspy words that hang between them. He accepts what he sees, and finally her blood heats up, power returns to her limbs and the pictures vanish from her mind. Merciful silence. She does not turn on him, and he watches her leap into the shadows.

They have hunted her for hours, and they are strong and many. No brethren, not for someone like her, beast like them but alone. They're a strong pack, and their huge, white-maned alpha doesn't tolerate strangers in his territory. He takes in her scent and knows she is weak and on her own, no one to guide her, no help against their superior strength. Easy prey. He leads the hunt, their yelps and howls behind her, a mad chase over the white plains on top of the mountains and the icy flats of the glacier. She tries to fight, tries to break through their lines and kill them, but they are too many and too strong, they work together without fault, and all the efforts only add to her exhaustion.

She bleeds and hurts, and they come closer, threatening to surround her. It would be a good end. A fast end. She is so tired.

But beasts run from the fire, it is uncontrollable, it means certain death and it stops every hunt. She is beast, but for her, fire has a meaning. It means safety, warmth and rest, and it's the instinct to survive that lets her break free, turns the last strength into a last effort. She leaps towards the flickering flames, a treacherous promise and a last chance. She sees the light and smells the smoke just like her pursuers, and when she runs towards it, their yelps and barks fade in the distance behind her.

Fire means safety. It has always been safety, and instincts tell her to run. The fire would save her because it was not for the beasts.

* * *

I was in my flesh when I collapsed at the edge of the lit up circle, and I was warm when I woke again. Really warm, not the artificial heat in my blood that only fed from my own energy, but warm. It felt so nice… and I didn't deserve it. Instincts kicked in, and I struggled against the blankets and furs they had piled upon me, against the pain and the cramps running through my body.

I had to get out, had to get away. This warmth, it was… far too familiar, and it alone revived other things, scents, images and feelings I had to keep away.

I screamed and fought, but strong claws held me down, pressed my shoulders into the thin straw on the wooden cot.

"Wolf…," someone said, raspy and soothing. And familiar.

I was too weak, my limbs lying like lead on the rough fabric. A face appeared in my view, a cat-woman, her bright yellow eyes with the slit pupils scrutinising me. They were calm and cold, didn't make any demands. Clawed hands held a goblet to my lips.

It was a brew of herbs I didn't recognise, and I swallowed eagerly, the lukewarm liquid running soothingly through my dry throat. It relaxed me instantly, shoulders falling back, the whiteknuckled fists my fingers had formed to keep the roaring pain in my belly in check loosening. The cramps that ran in violent waves through my muscles suddenly stopped. Relieved I closed my eyes, trying to shut out what was happening around me.

"Leave us alone, Kharjo," a female voice ordered, and I felt a rush of cold air from an opening tent flap on my sweaty face before merciful unconsciousness reclaimed me.

The yellow eyes were still there when I came back, their cold gaze lying on my form.

"This one is S'Rashna," the woman said, "healer of Ahkari's group. Kharjo has paid S'Rashna to take care of you, and you will do what she says. That is, if you want to live. You and your child."

It took me a moment to realise that she spoke of herself. And then her words sunk in. Someone wanted to help, unasked and unwanted, had even paid for it. Didn't they see that it was too late? Didn't they see that nothing was left worth to save? I turned away from the woman, stared at the leather that formed the tent. Mammoth leather, fine quality. I could count the pores in the expertly treated skin.

"Drink this when you're thirsty. It will help with the pain and the cramps. It will not deal with their cause, though." The woman stood up and placed another goblet beside the cot before she left the tent. I reached for it as soon as she was gone, it held the promise of numbing not only my body, but also my mind, but a clawed hand stopped me.

"Not now. Not so soon. You must eat first." The warrior again. He sat down on the stool and offered me a bowl. Broth, chicken broth, hot and steamy, the scent making me retch. He did not understand. I would not eat, I would not take help. I was trapped in the darkness of this tent, in this warmth that was so treacherous, and being trapped was worse than being cold, or hunted, or dead, and I knew nothing but to lash out against him and his eagerness. With the rage came the blood, and I felt the heat in my spine, the fury coiling in the nape of my neck.

I was too weak to hurt him, but I surprised him and the hot broth from the shattered bowl scalded his wrists. But he fought me down easily, his claws on my shoulders, light green gaze locking into my golden one, his voice a raspy hiss.

"It takes more than that to make you a beast… wolf. If you want to live, you have to let Kharjo help."

I didn't move when he released me, I didn't want to hear this calming, determined voice with the strange accent and all the pity that lingered in it. I wanted him to leave, to stop caring for a life that wasn't worth saving. Finally I heard the flap open, and he was gone.

I was in a camp, more people securing my captivity. The wind howling around the tents couldn't drown out the hissed whispers outside.

"She's a savage, Kharjo. Look how you found her, naked, bleeding, nearly dead. Look what she did. Have you seen her eyes? No human has eyes like that! How has she lived? How has she survived? S'Rashna can't help her if she doesn't want it, and the child will kill them both. We should just take her to a temple."

"You must try, S'Rashna. Please. She deserves to live."

No, I didn't.

I felt for the bulge in my belly, my fingers already used to the altered form lying between the sharp points of my hipbones and the deep hollow beneath the salient arch of my ribs. It was impossible to ignore, it had grown despite the abuse I had imposed on my body. It was a part of me and yet it wasn't, alien, foreign matter, inflicted on me.

It wasn't me. It was another life.

And it was nothing but a memory and a reminder, my fingers on my skin breaking out the remembrance of something else, other hands, different touches, searing my flesh with a kind of warmth that was gone forever. The memory licked at my consciousness like the flame of a torch, teasing, torturing, and I craved for the cold.

The woman came back and sat down on the narrow stool, holding a goblet and a bowl in her clawed hands. Her gaze rested scrutinising on my face while another wave of cramps shook my body.

"If Khajiit is to help you, you have to make a decision. The child will kill you if you don't," she said calmly, nearly indifferently, pointing at the goblet in her right hand. "S'Rashna can make you lose it. It's late, but it's not too late, and you will recover. Perhaps it's even better. You're too weak to carry a child."

She held the bowl in front of her. Chicken broth again, warm and nourishing.

"Or S'Rashna can help you to keep it. But you must want it, and you will have to work for you both." Her eyes pierced into my soul. "Your decision, woman. And decide fast, or it will be too late."

She wouldn't decide for me, not like a priest would do it. They would force their help onto me with the sanctity of life in their minds and devout sentences of consolation on their lips. This woman would help only if I asked for it. I didn't know in what she believed, if she believed in anything at all, and she wouldn't tell me. I couldn't blame her.

But she asked the wrong questions in her stoic, unquestioning way, in the way how she refused to offer any support beside the raw treatment. She didn't have an opinion. My fate was nothing she cared for.

And still she tried to force me. Her demand was sharp and clear and tore through the haze of denial.

My fingers touched my belly. There was something else. Foreign matter, another life. Reminder of a shattered past, promise of a future that would never happen.

I couldn't let it touch me. I couldn't ask the questions the woman wanted me to answer. Making a decision meant to acknowledge that it would make a difference. Nothing made a difference any more, not this life, not my own.

But her questions stirred up the images I had suppressed for so long. They caught up to me, the memories of the life I once had, of the joy and love, tenderness and safety and hope, feelings that had formed too much of me to be forsaken. To fight them only made them stronger, their onslaught turning my self into a whimpering, destroyed, hurting mess of agony. I tried to escape through the only exit I knew, clawed at this stubborn, tenacious body that granted my survival, blunt, ragged nails breaking the skin and scratching it from my flesh. Deep, bleeding marks soaked the furs beneath me, and I welcomed the cramps that shot once again through my belly, flooding my nerves with agony and finally drowned out everything else.

But the pain brought no relief, and the scream that wailed through the camp didn't either. Only the drug of the woman, the sleeping draught that dropped into my mouth and soothed the rawness of my throat, it promised escape and forgetting, an easy flight and another respite. I was too weak not to fall for it, drowned eagerly in the escape of unconsciousness, and the beast clawed her way through the pain to the surface again, no resistance holding her back. I let her take over my dreams once more, fled into the simple truths of blood, power and hunger.

* * *

_The land is barren and dead, lain to waste by forces she can't even imagine, a desert of dirty snow and ash, sharp rocks throwing shadows far too sharp in the blurry, muted light around her. Nothing grows, nothing moves in this waste except herself and her shadow._

_She runs and searches, the need to hunt flowing like fire through her veins, but she is alone. The prey that has always been there, that she needs to join her in her chase, it is gone. Not even the rustling of a mouse or the wingbeat of a butterfly disturb the silence around her, only the heavy padding of her clawed feet on parched earth drums a counterpoint to the heartbeat pounding in her ears._

_She runs for hours and days without rest, her howl increasingly desperate, frantically searching for something in the nothingness around her, any sign of another life, of a breath, a noise or the trace of a scent, but the only scent she finds is her own when she crosses the paths she has already run along a thousand times._

_She isn't used to being alone. She wants to kill and feed, she wants warm flesh between her claws and warm blood pooling under her tongue, but there has to be something, someone to fulfil her need, she can't do it alone. She's always been dependent on others. Always at their mercy, even if it was only prey. This solitude exhausts her more than the ever increasing hunger, and she is tired, so tired, the complete absence of everything weighing her down and slowing her pace until her chase turns into erratic stumbling from shadow to shadow._

_When she falls down and gives up, her will broken like the black rocks around her, small whimpers escape her, rise into a howl and turn into a cry of despair, rough and broken from a throat raw and dry. The realisation is sharp and clear and merciless. She is lost. She has reached the end. Nothing left to care for, nothing left to die for and nothing left to keep her alive - nothing, and no one._

_When she doesn't move any more, the light changes, it becomes darker, softer and reddish, the harsh shadows on the broken snow losing their sharp edges. Lights appear on the black sky, an eternity away. She doesn't believe in the promise they hold, doesn't believe any more that someone sees the same stars on the same sky she sees. And yet they're soothing in their beauty, to lie under the stars and to look up to them with her mind barred against the world around her is something she is used to._

_This world around her changes without her being aware, she has cut herself away, nothing gets behind her barriers. Only when the air itself changes and the altered scent catches her attention, she becomes alert, inhales deeply. The smell of dry ash and dust is gone, replaced by the fragrance of pines in spring, the hint of a promise of life returning. She always loved this scent, and it matches the red moons that have risen above her. The next sensation that reaches her is a sound. She half expects to hear the wind sweeping through the trees that have to grow all around her and the rustling of animals in the under-brush, but it's nothing like this. It's the sound of a lute, a slow, lingering tune that worms itself into the emptiness of her soul._

_The world has changed, and she recognises it with sudden, innocent awe, turns to the side on the fur she's lying on and props her head into her palm to take in her surroundings. A smile spreads over her face. The camp she knows so well is devastated by brute forces, the piled furs ripped to shreds, the cooking station bent and overthrown and her iron pots rusting in the mud, jars with dried supplies smashed beyond recognition, a bow lying broken beside the remains of a wrecked storing shelf._

_But beyond her resting place burns a fire, and fire means safety, warmth and rest. Fire means home. The man sitting beside it is huge, bulging muscles stretching the seams of his tunic, thick black, always ruffled tresses falling down to his shoulders. She can see his face in its profile, strong brows on pale skin, bright eyes surrounded by laughlines, a mouth that smiles so easily, the dark stubble covering his chin and the small scar at the temple. Nothing has changed, only that his broad, calloused fingers coax these sounds from the instrument in his lap._

_He once laughed at her when she asked him if he could play the lute in his room, wiggled his paw-like hands in front of her face and explained that a friend had left it behind after a night of drinking. He never played for her before, and this is how she knows that he's only an illusion. Just an image, a memory, a shape her mind has made up because it needs it to heal. It doesn't matter._

_His smile flares up like a sunrise, cheerful and affectionate when she haunches down beside him and leans against his shoulder like she's always done it, takes in his scent and his warmth._

_"Qhouri."_

_"Hey, handsome."_

_It's all they need, this short greeting, they're certain of each other. They've met before and they will meet again, they don't need assurance. Instead he plays for her and she listens, and their souls meet in the melody until it ends with a sound that lingers, quivers in the air between them for an eternity, holding all the sadness and joy of their togetherness. They still listen when it's long faded, leaning into each other with his arm around her shoulder, until he puts the instrument away._

_"You have to go," she says, and he turns to her and nods. Her voice doesn't falter, not even when she sees the sorrow in his eyes._

_"Once you promised me something. Do it again."_

_Her eyes search his face, she never tires of watching him. It's not a question, and she doesn't have to answer. He knows she'll promise him everything._

_"Don't submit. You're too stubborn to give up."_

_His gaze wanders over her body, and he takes in her changed form, his palms warm on her belly and in her neck as she hides her face in his shoulder._

_"Promised," she whispers, and he laughs and rises, offers a strong hand to help her up._

_"That's my woman!"_

_They hold each other, their breaths mingling for a single, stolen moment of eternity, a moment that has to be enough for a lifetime._

_"I love you," she says, and his smile takes her breath away. So much trust. So much love. So much belonging. "I'll always love you."_

_"I know. Go and live a life. I'll be here when you come."_

_It's always he who has to wait for her. It's not fair. She still hears his howl on the wind when the cold comes back and her heart finds shelter in a soothing, adamant cover of ice._

* * *

My face was wet when I awoke, swollen and stained, the rough fabric beneath my cheeks moist and hot, and I didn't know why. I didn't remember why I had cried in my drug-induced sleep, the tears had exhausted me to the core, but they had also washed away the crippling fear that had always been with me through dreams and waking hours. And the instinctive urge to flee into the beast I had experienced every single time the moment I woke, those dreadful minutes until I was safe again… I waited for it, waited that the beast clawed its way to the front of my mind, but it didn't come.

For the first time I felt as if I'd be able to sleep, truly sleep, without drugs and without the escape into the beastblood, and give my body and my mind the rest they needed so desperately.

Whatever it was that had made me cry, I was thankful for it. It lay around my soul like an armour, firm, hard and reliable, without any gaps to let anything through. Neither in, nor out. It would shelter me from the pain that was waiting for me, and this knowledge finally gave me the strength to confront the images that I couldn't ban anyway and that I allowed now to emerge, to watch them closely and store them away once and for all. The dragon's fangs shredding through the bones of his armour like paper. The mangled body in the snow, torn apart beyond recognition, already dead when I reached him. Alduin's maliciously laughing shadow when he vanished behind the peak of the mountain and Arngeir's horrified expression when he watched me leave High Hrothgar. The column of smoke above the Skyforge that sent Farkas' remains to the sky, the corpses of the men and women I had fed on.

I didn't dare to think further back, to the time before. I didn't dare to think ahead either. So much death lay behind me, and between all this decay I still lived, and in me waited the life I carried, the child that would grow up without a father.

But it would grow up, I would take care of that, personally. The question wasn't if I wanted this child. I didn't. It would force me to live instead just to survive. Survival was only an instinct, a heart beating as long as it could to keep the blood flowing, lungs forcing the air in and out of a body as long as possible.

To live was a choice in consciousness and awareness of oneself. This was a choice I couldn't make and a gift I didn't deserve. Like this child would be a gift I didn't deserve.

But what I wanted didn't matter. This child deserved to live. It was innocent, it wasn't me, and it wasn't its fault that it was alone. This guilt was mine alone, and it deserved more than me. It wasn't fair that it needed me to come to life. I would shelter and protect it, and I would save its world and my eternity. Our eternity.

Never submit. The words were always looming in the back of my thoughts, something I kept whispering to myself, something to cling to when every hour was darker than the one before. I could not afford the weakness to mourn for my past, I would not submit to the memories that kept emerging, and I would not flee the pain.

For the first time I was ready to get in touch with the world around me again. For the first time, I was aware of myself. Frail, brittle and sore, but aware enough to be ashamed that the warrior who had watched over my sleep saw me like this, his light green eyes again full of pity. I didn't turn away though, his curious scrutiny just recoiled from my shell. Let him think, let him wonder.

And I was aware enough to notice the miserable state of my body, the sharp relief of bones beneath ashen skin, the unhealed wounds and bruises, the trembling of my hands.

"I'm hungry," I said, astonished of the hoarseness of my voice and of its weakness, and my stomach answered with an approving growl that coaxed a toothy, feline grin on his face. It looked as if he expected me to return it, and as if he was disappointed when I didn't. His ears twitched when he reached behind him.

"Kharjo will get you something," he said and vanished through the tent flap.

It didn't take long for me to recover. The caravan was on its way to Dawnstar, stayed there for a week and turned back south. I endured the healer's treatment, her foul liquids, the salves and massages she treated my body with, the brews and meals with strange ingredients she made me swallow. She made me work for my convalescence like she had predicted, but even this indifferent woman seemed to be surprised about my determination to regain my strength.

Nightmares came and went whenever I closed my eyes, but I didn't ask for the relief of the drug. Alduin's terror shadowed my soul. I would live with it, I endured the healer's treatment, Kharjo's weird attachment and the open curiosity of the other Khajiit, and nothing ever really reached me. I did no longer feel the urge to flee, not into the wilderness and not into the beast, because nothing could harm me any more. Nothing could be worse than what I had already left behind.

I left them before they reached Morthal after helping them a last time to set up their camp, without thanks and goodbye and only in the rags they had given me. I had not asked them to take me in, and I owed them nothing. On entering Vilemyr Inn, Wilhelm only looked into my face and handed me a key without another word. His silent friendliness made me smile, for the first time for weeks, and it felt strange on my face.

To make my way up to the Throat of the World, to climb the 7000 steps, to walk through High Hrothgar and the stares of the Greybeards and to shout my way to the top of the mountain was a deliverance. I made it, all on my own. This was the place where Alduin had taken over once and for all, where he had forced me to put my destiny over my life and where I had abandoned everything else. I could have never made this step without him. Now I didn't have a choice any more, but I accepted the decision he had made for me. I would play his game, I would allow nothing to distract me, and I would win.

The Worldeater had no idea what he had gotten himself into, now that he had made me really angry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate me, please.


	14. Duty-Bound

"Dovahkiin," Paarthurnax greeted me, and his voice rang over the mountain as if he aimed to be heard down in Ivarstead. He sat on top of his wall as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn't moved for weeks and waited for me. Perhaps he had.

I was sore and tired from the way up, but the physical ache was numbed by the determination to get the answers I needed.

"What now, Paarthurnax?" I asked, passing over the greeting, and my voice was steady, although hoarse from the shouting. "Where is he? Is he in Sovngarde?" Alduin's taunts were clear in my memory, how he mocked us with the many strong souls he had fed on.

The ancient dragon didn't answer immediately, and he sat motionless on his outlook above me, his gaze directed over my head and into the distance. Somehow, he looked… old instead of ancient. Different. Tired.

Finally he started to speak. "I do not know, Dovahkiin. Sovngarde is his feasting ground, he hunts there to gather his strength. But if he is there now and how he gets there… only his closest allies will know. But you have the true voice of a Dovah. You can ask them."

Ask a dragon, of course. One of Alduin's allies. Very helpful. The scorn on my face must have been evident, for he finally deigned to bend his head down to my eyelevel.

"One of his allies? Don't play with me, Paarthurnax. I need answers, not more riddles."

"You have shaken their loyalty, Dovahkiin," he said. "Your krongrah… your victory here…"

The deep growl that formed in my throat made him stop. "Don't you dare! Nothing that happened here can be called victory! We lost, and Alduin escaped!"

The dragon didn't answer, and his features gave no hint of his thoughts, but I knew he disagreed. When his legs tensed and he rose into the sky I thought he'd fly away and leave me behind, but he just circled the peak, roaring at the clouds in mournful words I didn't understand. Powerful flaps of his wings held him on the wind, and when he landed directly in front of me in a powdery cloud of snow, his breath hot on my face, he didn't look old any more. Ancient, wise… and patient, and he locked my gaze in the unreadable depths of his eyes in an effort to make me understand.

"You still live, and that makes it a victory. Not even the heroes of old were able to defeat Alduin in open battle. But you still live, and he had to flee – despite his pahlok – his arrogance that always made him take domination as his birthright. You won, and his allies will think twice now."

I stood before him with gritted teeth and balled fists, shaking from his words. To think of this fight as a triumph over the Worldeater… it nearly broke through my shell. It was an accident that I still lived, and most of all – it wasn't worth the price I had paid. It could never be worth it.

Paarthurnax' fangs opened again only inches from my face, I felt his voice rumbling through my stomach. "It was a victory not only because you live, Dovahkiin. That you came back here… it's your true prevalence. He could not break you. You're stronger than Alduin."

It was his acknowledgement of what had happened that made me choke, that let me make a step back, away from his presence. He had no idea. The way he made everything that had happened here look as if it was part of a greater plan made me sick.

I didn't know if I was stronger than Alduin. But he was right – I would try, go on and find out.

"How do I find one of his allies? And how do I make him help?"

"It will not be easy to convince one of them to betray their master." His intense gaze watched me as if he was curious for my reaction.

"Whiterun, Dovahkiin. The hofkahsejun – the palace of the Jarl. Dragonsreach. It was built to house a captive dovah, to serve as a trap for one of my brethren. Ask the Jarl about Numinex. Convince him to use it again. "

Whiterun, where I never wanted to return. Where I knew that scents, voices and faces would haunt me.

I closed my eyes, tried to force back the images of Jorrvaskr and Breezehome, of Dragonsreach's silhouette against the horizon, the Skyforge, the Mare and the Gildergreen and all the familiar faces that awaited me there. The pity, sympathy and curiosity I'd have to endure, the questions they would have. There was the skull of a dragon, hanging on the wall above the Jarl's throne. I never asked for its meaning, but I remembered it. It was all that mattered now.

"And who?" I managed to force the question through gritted teeth. At least Paarthurnax had this answer as well.

"Odahviing, the Winged Hunter in the Snow. Alduin's right hand… in fact, my successor in this position. He's prideful, belligerent and curious… he will not refuse the challenge, not if you call him. And he is close enough to his master to see his weakness clearly and lead you to him."

He taught me his knowledge of the Words that formed the dragon's name, the knowledge I'd need to call him from wherever he was. And he made me another gift after urging me to sit down in front of him, between his huge body and the wall. Again I felt the subtle warmth that radiated from him.

"Steel yourself, Dovahkiin," he said and inhaled in the unique way that could only be followed by a Shout. But it wasn't the fire blast I expected.

"FUS." It was nearly a whisper, a hiss, his tongue curling behind the impressive fangs in front of my face, and I felt the force in my stomach and in my bones, the sound itself resounding through my skull. Of course I knew the Word, but now it felt different. I felt the strength behind and its power, able to turn the world upside down if used in the right way.

Paarthurnax lowered himself onto his belly when the sensation had ebbed away.

"This is the force to push the world aside, Dovahkiin. Think of how it may be applied effortlessly, imagine only a whisper pushing aside all in its path. That's FUS. Let its meaning fill you. Su'um ahrk morah. You will push the world harder than it pushes back."

I slept where I was, on top of the world and under the shelter of the ancient dragon, and I learned how to push the world away when necessary.

* * *

To sit in Breezehome at the cold fireplace, the house damp and dusty after all these weeks and with all those reminders in my view – Farkas' soft leather boots still standing below the hook where his cloak used to hang, all the things we had bought in Windhelm together, the pole with his wolf armour in the corner and his favourite mug standing on the sideboard, ready to be used again, his scent still wafting through the silent rooms – and to ponder over the politics I had to get involved in now… it was surreal.

The contrast between what I had wanted for my life, what I had worked for and we had dreamt of and what I had gotten in the end couldn't have been greater. And it had something strangely ironic.

I was detached from my surroundings, looked at the things around me with a cold distance that was astonishing even for myself. "Never submit," I whispered to myself, and the pain stayed where it was, buried deep inside where even I couldn't reach it any more.

The Jarl didn't outright refuse my plea to let me trap a dragon in his palace. It took a lot of convincing and some argumentative help from Farengar, but in the end he took the old tale of the dragon Numinex who had been held captive in Dragonsreach seriously, and he understood the seriousness of my request.

As I understood his objections. He was the Jarl, and he would not weaken his city by luring a dragon into its heart while under the threat of an enemy attack. So far, he had managed to remain neutral in the civil war, and while this stance on the conflict had certainly contributed to Whiterun's position as the thriving centre of Skyrim, it had also led to the result that both leaders regarded him as a traitor now, and his city as a prize still to score.

And now it was my job to convince Ulfric Stormcloak and General Tullius to leave Whiterun alone while I made sure that they still had a future to spend with their silly war.

When I asked Jarl Balgruuf which faction he considered the greater danger, he didn't hesitate for a moment with his answer.

"That's easy," he laughed mirthlessly, "the biggest danger is Ulfric. We know each other far too long and far too good, and especially because we have a history together, he will never forgive that I don't take his side. And for him, everybody who isn't for his cause is automatically against him. I expect him to try to take Whiterun, even sooner than later. Of course he has his… contacts in my city, and he would jump at the chance in an instant."

Jarl Ulfric. My own history with him was short and unpleasant. He had forgotten me once, but certainly not a second time. I knew I'd need assistance to convince him to leave Whiterun alone for the time being, and Balgruuf's remark about his contacts gave me an idea whom to ask. For once, the everlasting family feud in the heart of the city would perhaps prove to be useful.

On my way out of Dragonsreach, I had asked a patrolling guard to send word to Jorrvaskr and ask Vignar Grey-Mane to visit me in Breezehome. He had given me an odd look, as if questioning why I didn't go myself, but in the end he remained quiet and complied.

I didn't have to wait for long. What I didn't expect was the loud, furious pounding against my door. This wasn't Vignar.

I didn't want to speak with Vilkas, but he was hard to ignore. When he started to shout at me from outside – "Open the fucking door! Now!" – I let him in without a word.

To see him standing at the doorstep, clad in his wolf armour again and seething with anger and sadness, to look into this face… I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth so violently that I heard them grind against each other. I could deal with old boots and tankards and discarded armours… to deal with people was harder, much harder. And to deal with Vilkas was perhaps the hardest of all.

"I asked for Vignar, not you," I said and turned away from him, sat down again at the cold firepit.

The door was kicked shut with a bang.

"Where have you been?" he shouted in boiling fury, "you disappeared! Without a word and without a trace! We worried, dammit!" He paced with wide steps through the room, his steel boots battering the floorboards like his gauntlet had battered against the door. As if he thought the noise he made would bring back life into the house.

I avoided to look at him. "Not your business, Vilkas."

This made him stop dead. I didn't have to look at his face to feel the rage and bewilderment radiating from him.

"Not… my… business?" he snarled, "not my business? When my sister-in-law loses her husband and vanishes for weeks and nobody knows if she's dead _as well_ , it's _not my business_?" His fist crushed with so much force against the mantlepiece of the fireplace that small pieces of mortar fell down and stirred the cold ash into tiny clouds of dust. "We held his funeral! Without you! What did you think? We have waited and waited, and no one knew where you are and if you still live and if we have to burn two bodies in the end, and… Shor's mercy!" He spun around. "You _bitch_! Why weren't you here? Why are you..."

"Shut up!"

His mouth stood open. The sudden silence roared through my ears. Now I looked at him, took in the familiar armour, his unpainted, cleanly shaven face and the deep, dark fury in his gaze. It only concealed the hollowness in him.

My voice was calm. "You know where I've been. You, of all people, should know best." To see his face contort in horror evoked a trace of cruel satisfaction. "Who cares if I was here? He's _dead_. I failed when he needed me most, and now he's gone. Forever."

The quiet was eerie. Vilkas propped his arm against the masonry and hid his face in the crook of his arm. I wanted him to go, but I didn't have the strength to throw him out. When he finally turned to me, he moved like an old man, as if every muscle strained against the motion.

"Yes," he rasped, "that's what I thought. That it's your fault. That he would still live if I had been more thorough." Silent regret lingered in his voice. But then he made a step towards me, holding my gaze. "I wanted to believe that you killed him, but it's not true. I've spoken with Arngeir… It's not your fault. He told me what happened. That Alduin killed him and how he found you when the dragon called them for help."

My breath hitched. This nearly broke through my shell. He had been the one to bring his brother's corpse home. Of all people, it had to be Vilkas. I couldn't think about what he had found there, the mangled body in the ice-cold, dark little chamber where I had left him behind.

I shoved the image away as Vilkas hunched down in front of me, stretching out his hand as if he expected me to take it – or as if he needed something to hold on to. But I was the wrong person to ask. "Come home, Qhouri. We've waited for you."

He would always be a pathetic bastard.

It was ironic, only a few weeks ago I had to convince him to come home with me. Now he tried the same with me, but I shook my head, crossing my arms over my chest. "I _am_ home, and I won't stay anyway. There's work to be done. I don't have the time to…"

I didn't know how to finish the sentence. To dawdle? To mourn? To plunge into the comfort the companionship of my siblings could provide? To share their sorrow? It would just make it harder for us all, we would only remind each other constantly of my failure and of the loss we had all suffered. They would take care of each other. They would even take care of him.

But it all seemed so far away, so long ago, too far and too long to affect me any more. I couldn't afford to care.

I buried my forehead in my palms, my thumbs rubbing my temples. "Leave me alone, Vilkas. I only need to talk to Vignar."

But he didn't move, and I felt his stare on me. "You don't give up, do you? You still hunt him?"

No, I wouldn't give up, no matter how tired I felt. "Failure is not an option. Your words, remember? I've already proven otherwise, but I should at least try to get the job done."

"And you're gonna do it alone."

"No one else around who could," I answered with a mirthless grin, "and I won't drag anyone else into this madness. I'll sacrifice no one else."

A dark scowl settled on his face, and beneath the sorrow and anger lingered something sinister.

"But you're gladly gonna sacrifice yourself. And your child. His child, all that's left of my brother."

He was deliberately cruel, trying to hurt me, trying to find release for his own pain that he hid behind anger and malice, but his cruelty didn't reach me. His eyes locked into mine, a duel of darkness, sorrow and hate, and for a single moment we understood each other. But it was nothing we could have shared.

"Not gladly, but I will if I have to, yes. And now go."

I had to chase him away if he didn't go on his own. He wasn't obliged to me, and the only one who had connected us was dead.

When I broke away from his gaze, blindly staring at my feet, I heard him rise. He left silently, and I only looked up when the door clapped and he was gone.

* * *

"How good do you know Ulfric Stormcloak, Vignar?" I asked and earned the most surprised face I had ever seen on the old Companion.

But he wasn't only a Companion, he was also the patron of the Grey-Mane family, the staunchest and most open supporter of the Stormcloak rebellion in all of Whiterun. I had rescued his nephew from the Thalmor, and I hoped he'd help me now with my problem.

"Well," he drawled as if not sure how to answer, "I know him, of course…"

"Please, Vignar. Everybody knows that you Grey-Manes are his eyes and ears here in Whiterun. Believe me, I don't care. I just need to know how good you know him… personally."

The long tips of the man's moustache quivered like the ones of a horker. "Well enough, I suppose."

"Well enough to give him advice? Well enough that he listens to you?"

Now I had woken his curiosity. "What's the matter, Qhourian? Do you need to get in contact with him? Don't forget, you're a Companion. No politics."

He showed me a small smirk. From all the people I had met in the city so far, he seemed the least changed. Perhaps he had seen too much death and too much sorrow in his life, but he was one of the few people who seemed to accept the fact that even for me, life had to go on. I was thankful for his dry, unsentimental attitude.

"It's not about politics. It's about the dragon business." I took a deep breath. "You know my story, Vignar. Everybody does. The thing is… I have to find a dragon who can tell me where Alduin is, and Dragonsreach is a dragon trap. I'm sure you've heard of Numinex. Balgruuf is willing to help, but only if I make sure that neither Ulfric nor Tullius will take advantage of a dragon sitting in his backyard. I need to convince them both to leave Whiterun alone until I'm done."

The grey eyes under the white mane, still braided in a warrior's style, watched me calmly. Vignar barely left Jorrvaskr any more, but he had kept track of my proceedings in pursuing the Worldeater as closely as all of my siblings. He knew enough of this endeavour to not be too surprised.

"Trap a dragon, eh? In Dragonsreach?" He nearly snickered because of this crazy idea, but then he became earnest again. "You want my help to convince Ulfric?"

"Yes. Please. I know nothing about him, and our encounters so far were... unpleasant. But I need his cooperation." No need to beat around the bush. Seeing his quizzical face, I added, "I just need something to back me up. A letter… dunno. Something from someone he takes seriously. Perhaps… if you explained to him how important this is…" My voice trailed off, and I shrugged. "I don't care for his war. It's just that there won't be anything left to fight for if I don't do my job."

The old man folded his hands on top of the table between us and regarded me pensively. "Balgruuf is a fool," he finally said, "a fool and a coward. You could just help Ulfric to take Whiterun for the Stormcloaks. There would be others who aren't as hesitant as our Jarl, and Whiterun would be free as well. Win win, so to say."

I groaned audibly, my forehead creasing into a deep frown. This was exactly what I wanted to avoid, and Vignar read my expression correctly. He gave me a lopsided grin. "Can't blame you that you're not thrilled. But you can't blame me either for trying… Ulfric would make me the next Jarl of Whiterun if I brought him the Dragonborn to join his forces."

I sighed. "No, I'm not, Vignar. I won't get involved into this war, and not only because Kodlak told me so. Even if I wanted to sign up with the Imperials, the Thalmor have put a bounty on my head, and they would lock me up for one of their special treatments as soon as I came near Solitude. And your Ulfric… he's an arrogant jerk, sorry for being so blunt, and perhaps he has to be with his ambitions. But he's also a fanatic, and I don't like fanatics."

"Tell me how you met him."

"Once in Helgen. And then... well, I spent a night in Windhelm's prison because I beat the shit out of his housecarl's brother when he insulted Athis. You know how he treats the Dunmer in his city, and his attitude spreads over to his citizens. The true ones, that is, the Nords. After that, he tried to call on my duty as Nord and Dragonborn to make me join his forces."

Vignar's lips quirked upwards. "Do I assume correctly that you refused?"

My grin was twisted. "Of course. He didn't like it at all that I told him that my war is more important than his. And that's why I need your help."

"You told him _what_?" Vignar's grin was genuine. He looked a lot like his brother in this moment, his whole expression as open and honestly amused as the smith's. He just lacked his booming laughter. He tilted his head and eyed me curiously.

"You know… thirty years ago, when we fought in the War together, I was an officer of the Imperial army and Ulfric wasn't much more than a whelp. A strange whelp with his shouting and his attitude, but he made his way, and I have watched him closely since then. I'm not blind, I know he's not flawless, but I know how he's become the man he is today. And I honestly believe that he's the right man for Skyrim."

He saw my frown deepen and covered my wrist with his hand, the skin of his palm rough and dry like brittle paper. His smile became paternal. "Don't worry, Qhouri. I believe in the righteousness of Ulfric's cause, but I also believe in the old Nordic traditions, in our history and our prophecies. Alduin the Worldeater _is_ a bigger danger than the Empire or even the Dominion. And you're right, your war _is_ more important than his. "

I sighed with relief. "Does that mean... will you tell him that? Write him a letter? Something I can give him?"

"No."

My face fell, but Vignar's smile was warm. "I will not write him a letter. He knows he can count on me, and he knows that I'd never betray him. I think we should try to convince him together."

My eyes grew wide. "You would join me? To Windhelm? And speak with him yourself?"

"What? You think I'm too frail to spend a day on a carriage?" he chuckled.

I blushed. "Of course not! But…"

He cut me off. "I have a good life in Jorrvaskr, Qhouri. Some people may even call me lazy. But I know when it's necessary to get going again."

I felt my shoulders slump forwards in relief. I'd never be able to deal with the Stormcloak all on my own. That the old Grey-Mane was willing to put his influence into the balance, and that he'd do so personally… to know that he'd be there when I had to face the Jarl let a weight drop off my shoulders.

"Thank you, Vignar. You've no idea what that means to me."

His hand grabbed my wrist a bit firmer. "Oh yes, I do," he said with a warm smile. "You're a tough girl, Qhourian. And even if I weren't as convinced of your cause as I am… I'm still a Companion, and we don't let each other down. Never."

He stood up with an ease that was astonishing, as if the prospect of the coming action was already invigorating him, and his smile became a grin.

"Give me a day or two for my preparations, okay? I'm too old just to grab a bedroll and a sweetroll and be off. And while we're at it… perhaps we can check up on Thorald and Avulstein? I'm proud of the boys, but they're so lazy with writing, Fralia will go crazy if she doesn't hear from them more often."

I spent the days of waiting for Vignar to send word that he was ready to leave in the loaded silence of Breezehome, every view, every step fraught with reminders I could not escape. The time I had spent here before was so short, and still so precious. All the things Farkas had said, his smile, his warmth, his touches, his entire presence was moulded into every single one of these profane items that surrounded me. I watched myself, regarded with absentminded astonishment how I touched all the things in the house and called forth deliberately the memories that were bound to them.

Our laughter and excitement in the shop in Windhelm, his warm smile when he prepared a meal for us, our conversations at the fire, his joy over my pregnancy, the evening when he forced me to wear that flimsy dress and I felt so awkward and he couldn't stop laughing until it lay discarded on the floor, his tenderness and passion and how our bodies fit so perfectly into each other. So many moments of happiness. We had made this little house our home in the few days we had spent here together, and although we didn't dare to put it in words, I knew our dreams were the same, and they came alive inside of these walls. A future, a family, a life together. Something so simple and so impossible.

Every single one of these small memories was a token of our love, and to rouse them hurt like cuts with a dull knife, but I couldn't stop. I injured myself in this exploration of the past, and I tried to say farewell to them, consciously and once and for all, but I couldn't. As much as they hurt, they were too precious to be discarded, and I cherished them, even if it tore me apart and left me exhausted and hollow, even if I never felt so alone.

The house was dark and cold when Athis came, no fire and no lamps lit, only a thick Dunmeri blanket wrapped around my shoulders keeping me from freezing. When the door opened, I cowered curled into a ball on the narrow windowsill and watched the daylight disappear until only the flickering light of the guards' torches passed by occasionally. The mer didn't knock, he just came in and stood there, looking at me, crimson eyes bright and unreadable. And then he took my coat from the hook and held it in front of him.

"Let's have a walk," he said, making an inviting gesture towards the door, and I followed him without question.

He didn't say anything else, just led the way through the streets of Whiterun, nodding at the patrols, flipping Brenuin a coin, smiling at the priest who was resting on a bench in front of the temple. And he watched me pensively when he caught my gaze lingering on the entrance to Jorrvaskr, but he didn't stop, continued towards the long stairway up to Dragonsreach. We ascended to the palace and entered, the large hall already nearly deserted. Only Hrongar still lingered with a bottle on a bench, and Irileth sat with some papers at the large table. Athis waved to her with the greeting of old acquaintances.

He exchanged some words with her in a tone too low for me to understand before she made us follow her. I couldn't help it, but slowly I became curious. Athis was always good for a surprise.

We made our way through parts of the palace I had never visited before, through dark corridors, a large library and a room with a huge table covered with a map, full of red and blue flags. Even neutral, Jarl Balgruuf obviously planned for all eventualities. We went steadily upwards until Irileth stopped in front of a large oaken door which she unlocked with a huge, intricate key.

"Just call me when you leave, okay?" she said with a smile and turned on her heels while Athis already pushed the heavy wooden wing open.

We were outside… or nearly outside, a broad walkway under a high-vaulted ceiling leading towards a porch high above the plains. But Athis stopped me right behind the door when I wanted to walk towards the stunning view.

"Wait here," he said with a smile and vanished over a few narrow steps behind some columns at the edge of the hallway.

The earshattering noise nearly swept me off my feet when the _thing_ thundered down. A wooden arch, the beam as thick as the stem of the Gildergreen, reinforced and strengthened with steel bands that were wound around it. Skyforge steel, I recognised the special gleam of the metal at once. And now I also saw the massive pillars and braces at the wall and under the roof that held the whole construction in place, and the intricate tangle of chains that had released it.

Athis grinned proudly when he reappeared. "Impressive, eh? The trap is already prepared, Qhouri. Balgruuf had it oiled and tested during the last days." He pointed towards the arch. "It will take a dozen guards tomorrow to lift it again," he grinned, "and next time it comes down, there will be a dragon beneath it."

I still stared in awe while the mer already started to climb the arch, crawling along it on all fours until he had reached its highest point. "Come up here, the view is awesome!" he called.

It wasn't really comfortable to sit on the curved wood with our legs dangling freely in the air, but the view was indeed stunning. It was freezing, but even Athis wasn't cold in his warm bear cloak and fur-lined boots. And when he unpacked two slightly squashed but still warm sweetrolls from a small bag, I couldn't help but give him a small smile.

"With greetings from Tilma," he said lightly when he handed me one of them.

I sat on top of Whiterun and in the company of my friend, watching a giant with his herd of mammoths leaving a broad track in the thin coat of snow that covered the plains, and I knew he hadn't brought me here just to have a sweet in an unusual location. But he chewed contently and licked with relish the icing from his fingers, and his silence made me nervous. The sweetness of the treat got a bitter after-taste.

"Sorry, Athis. I'm no good company tonight," I said finally, getting ready to crawl down the trap, but he touched my wrist to stop me.

"That's why we're here and not in the Mare," he said in a light tone. "Don't wanna spoil the fun of Mikael and Ysolda, do we?"

I hesitated for a moment, then settled beside him again. "Why are we here, Athis?" I asked quietly.

He tilted his head. "I missed you," he replied with a small, nearly shy smile. "I wanted to see you."

He became silent again, and I didn't know what to say. I had no need for company… not even his. But now that we were here, his presence had something strangely soothing.

"What do you think, why is Balgruuf so hasty with his preparations?" he asked finally, in a casual tone.

His question caught me off guard, and I hesitated with an answer. "Because… he knows that in the end, he won't have a choice? He's afraid of Alduin. Everyone's afraid of Alduin."

Athis didn't look at me, his gaze following the slow moving of the giant, but he chuckled lowly.

"Wrong answer. Try again."

I shrugged. "Because he needs me for his own interests?"

He just shook his head.

"You're stupid, girl. Of course he's afraid, of Alduin, and perhaps even of you. Of course he sees the necessity. Of course he wants you to stay inclined to him, and of course he uses you for his own agenda. But all these reasons don't explain why he transformed a whole company of his guards into craftsmen to get this thing going as soon as you left the palace."

"He did?"

"Yes, he did. He believes in you. And you know… Vignar hasn't left Whiterun for years. He barely ever leaves Jorrvaskr. And tomorrow, he's gonna join you to Windhelm, and he's excited about it."

He turned to me, his bloody gaze intense.

"People do this because they like you, Qhouri. Not because you're a hero arisen from an ancient prophecy or a famous warrior, because they want you to save them or because they pity you. All of this as well, of course. But when they start to get out of their way like Balgruuf and Vignar, it's simply because you're a nice person, and because they believe in you."

A nice person? I didn't know he was so naïve. People helped me when I asked them because they wanted me to save their happy little lives. Not more, not less. I didn't expect anything else.

"Athis, you're…"

But he stopped me with a firm grip to my wrist, and all his casualness was gone.

"No, Qhouri, now you listen to me. I'll say this only once, and I mean it. At the moment you may think you're the loneliest woman on Nirn. It's your right, it's understandable, and I respect it. But you're more than the freshly widowed Dragonborn who has to save the world all on her own. You're also a citizen, a shield-sister and most of all a friend. You may have forgotten it, you may think it's not relevant any more, but we will remind you. You have a family, and we won't leave you alone. We're gonna remind you where you belong until you come back to us. That's a promise."

I cringed under his gaze, burning and bright and looking straight into my core. I could never hide from Athis, and he didn't need beastsenses to look through me. He knew exactly that he pressed me with this declaration, that it was the wrong thing to say, that I couldn't appreciate it.

And still he made it, this promise that pointed into a future that wasn't hollow and empty. The promise that one day it would make a difference. I didn't believe him, and he knew it.

But it also pointed into the past, into a time when I was whole and knew where I belonged. It hurt, and I fought against the dry sob that choked up my throat, the shivers that ran through my body and the pressure behind my eyes. He tried to thaw me with his warmth, and I couldn't let him. I needed this shell, it was shelter and protection, without it I would just dissolve. But it also encased what little strength I had left, a tiny, raw core of determination. I couldn't allow him to break it. If I started to cry now, I would never stop again.

He let go of my wrist, but I felt his gaze on me and conscious of myself, strung up as if I'd shatter if he only said another word. I had to get away from him, from this warmth and understanding that I couldn't allow. I didn't want him to understand, and I fled this closeness, slipped and tumbled down the trap until there was space between us and I could shut him out and come to rest in the silence inside of me.

I leant over the narrow wall at the edge of the porch, and there was no fear, no coiling in my stomach and no dizziness as I stared into the abyss and waited for my ragged breath to calm down. It wouldn't take much to lose balance. The railing was no barrier if I wanted to make this step. The option was there, always, and I'd be where I belonged.

I only had to kill Alduin first. When he was dead, I'd finally be able to choose, I'd be free to decide for myself what to do with my life, for the first time ever. The thought made me smile, and with the smile came the awareness of the subtle warmth by my side. Athis leant beside me, his back to the plains and his head tilted into his neck, but he turned his gaze to me when I straightened myself. He took my wrist again and covered my fist with his warm palm, pried it open and straightened my fingers with gentle pressure. Tiny beads of blood emerged from the crescents where my nails had broken the skin.

"You don't need this, Qhouri."

This wasn't a question of needing. It was a question of being able to, a question of choice. I didn't know how to respond. He wouldn't understand.

"Let me go, Athis," I said after a long pause. "Please."

He tilted his head and pushed himself off the narrow wall. "I'll bring you home."

We went without talking, on a winded way through small side-streets and dark alleys. We met no one, the city silent and void of life. When he lifted his hand as we stood in front of Breezehome, bright eyes gleaming in the torchlight from the Warmaiden and the gate, I retreated from him with a step backwards. I didn't want his warmth, his closeness, his understanding. But he didn't embrace me, only touched my shoulder briefly.

"Safe travels, sister," was all he said, and we both knew that it was a farewell. There was sadness in his voice. Sadness, and acceptance.

He didn't wait for me to answer, and when I looked after him as he went up the street, I felt relief and gratitude well up. Relief that he left me alone, and gratitude that he had been here. That he endured the wreck that I was without shying away.

"Athis!" I called after him. He stopped and turned. "Thank you," I whispered. He wouldn't hear it. I didn't want him to hear it.

But the smile that grew on his face was brighter than the torches that cast a golden hue over his dark face. "We'll be here, sister," he said, and then he waved, hopped up the stairs towards the Mare and disappeared. So predictable, my brother. It made me smile, for the second time that evening.

I spent the night, like the nights before, in the small chamber where the blanket and the pillow still smelled of Vilkas, the last one who had slept here. The main bedroom was the only room I didn't dare to enter… not now, I told myself every time I passed the closed door, not yet. And when I waited for Vignar at the stables in the morning, the sun only barely rising over the horizon, I was calm and concentrated on the task before me.

He came along with Brill, his shadow, servant and aide, clad in expensive clothes and with the Skyforge sword tied to his hip, and he greeted me with a cheerful smile. And when we had climbed the carriage and stored away our packs under the benches, he handed me a large package.

"You need to make an impression," he said, "can't visit the future High King in those rags."

I looked down on me. I wore my old leather armour, the only one with enough buckles and straps to make it fit, and was armed with my Skyforge mace. On a closer inspection, I had to admit that he was right… the armour would still protect me if we got into a fight, but it looked shabby and worn. I never had to think of things like my appearance before – not since I had come to Skyrim. Armour had to be useful and protective, clothes had to be practical and warm. Nothing else mattered – unless I met Ulfric Stormcloak. Sudden discomfort let me frown.

But when I unwrapped the package, wondering what kind of garment Vignar deemed fitting to meet a future king, my breath caught in my chest. Inside I found the armour I had left behind in High Hrothgar, the familiar dragon scales shining in the dim morning light. And Vignar had also brought the scabbard with the long blade of Dragonbane.

I swallowed heavily when I raised my gaze from the shimmering scales to the old man who leant relaxed against a cushion that Brill had brought for the journey. "How did you get this?" I whispered.

His gaze was piercing, assessing my reaction. "Vilkas brought it back and kept it for you. He always said that you'd need it when you came home." Of course. Vilkas. The armour was in excellent condition, cleansed and polished, no traces left of the last fight it had seen. Only the cuirass… it had changed, somehow. My fingers trailed over strips and fastenings that hadn't been there before.

Vignar's lips twisted into a small, gentle smile. "He also asked Eorlund to make a few adaptations," he said. "Now it will… grow with you. It won't conceal your state, but you'll still look impressive." My speechlessness made him chuckle. I touched the shimmering scales tentatively. I had left this armour behind like I had left everything behind. Just like the Companions. But they didn't let me, they believed in me, and they still cared. I didn't know why, and I felt pressed by their attention. And still I was glad to have it back. Nothing represented my status as Dragonborn better than this armour, it had saved my life more often than I could count, and I felt comfortable and safe in it.

"Thank you, Vignar. This is… awesome," I said with an honest smile, but he just reached into his overcoat and brought forth something else, a small leather-bound booklet, and handed it to me.

"Vilkas also asked me to give this to you. He just came back when I left." He waited until I had taken it from his hands with a curious glance. "I read it, of course," he admitted with a crooked grin, "and if I understand it correctly, it may be even more important than your looks."

I didn't recognise the book at first, but as soon as I opened it I knew of its importance. "Thalmor Dossier: Ulfric Stormcloak" was written in neat, convoluted letters on the first page, and I didn't have to skim any further to know its content. After our assault on the Thalmor embassy, I had no use for these documents, and Delphine had kept them in her custody. There was only one way Vilkas had made the way to Skyhaven Temple and back since I had seen him. He had let his beast out for days just to bring this back in time.

"You read it?" It wasn't hard to guess that Ulfric wouldn't be thrilled for the public to know about its contents. That he had been imprisoned and tortured after the Great War, and that the Thalmor made him believe that the information they pressed from him caused the fall of the Imperial city. And that they still regarded him as an asset, because the havoc he spread over the province played perfectly into their hands. A weakened Skyrim meant a weakened Empire, and they'd do everything to keep this war going.

I didn’t know how the little journal would help me now, it was just another proof of the Thalmor's misanthropic, cynical attitude. Perhaps it would give me some leverage in my negotiations with Windhelm's Jarl – I just hoped I wouldn't need it.

"Yes." Vignar regarded me with a small, thoughtful smile. "I read it, and I understand what it means. I don't wanna know how Vilkas got his hands on it, but his assessment is right, it could become important." He leant back and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I will tell Ulfric about it, Qhourian. That I owe him. But only if you don't and when Alduin is dead. That I owe you."


	15. Cornered

Vignar proved to be invaluable before we even entered the palace. While I would have just strolled in and hoped to find a way to speak with the Jarl, Vignar wrote a note as soon as we arrived at Candlehearth Hall, asking officially for an appointment. The courier returned while we sat in the main room over our dinner and brought a personal invitation to the palace for next day, signed by Ulfric himself. Vignar's smile was pleased.

"Now he knows that we don't just drop by," he said with a content nod and stashed the folded note into a pocket of his cloak.

I was glad that he had taken the initiative. "Guess it's not a good idea to take him by surprise?"

"No. Let him wonder what we want – and be prepared when we meet him. I guess we'll surprise him in any case." The old man was an epitome of aplomb as he leant back and spread his arms over the backrest of the bench he sat on. "And if we do... don't challenge him, Qhourian. It's crucial that you keep your temper in check, even if he doesn't."

"Okay. I'll try not to shout at him." I grinned feebly. We both knew that the part with my temper would be the hardest. I hated that I needed that moron's cooperation so badly.

"That would be appreciated," he snickered. "Also try to avoid to get into an argument about the war. We're not here because of the war, but because of Alduin. His war is irrelevant for the time being, that's the point we have to make clear." He chuckled lowly. "He won't like to hear it. He won't like to assist in something he has no influence in, especially when it goes against his own plans. We have to make him listen."

"I'm glad you're here, Vignar." His confidence was as astonishing as reassuring, although I prayed that he didn't misestimate his own influence. And he was evidently much more adept in the adequate handling of people with aspirations on the High Throne than me.

"We will make him listen, girl." His smile was gentle.

Next day, when we stood in front of the huge, impressive metal door-wings that fit so perfectly into the dark walls and the gloomy atmosphere of the courtyard to make every visitor feel small and insignificant, I pushed them open and waited for Vignar to take the lead. But he didn't move, not even under the scrutinising looks of the guards.

"Your cause, Dragonborn," he said earnestly and beckoned me to go on. I took a deep breath, straightened my shoulders and set my face to hide the nervousness that pulsed through me, and it helped. Ulfric was just a man, he would only see what I showed him – in contrary to me. I reached for my wolf senses and the feeling of power they provided and made my way through the long hall with firm steps, Vignar only a step behind me.

Ulfric Stormcloak lingered on Ysgramor's throne in the same entirely relaxed stance as the first time I had met him here, freshly released from his prison. But now I could see that it was at least partly a farce, that there was a tension in his body that would enable him to attack – or flee – any second, that nothing under this wide, vaulted roof escaped his attention. He was as alert as the man standing beside him, a burly Nord in heavily reinforced leather and fur, the bearded face shadowed by the threatening, open jaw of a bear skull he wore instead of a helmet.

This had to be Galmar Stone-Fist, Ulfric's general and the brother of the man I had beaten to pulp. Didn't seem he had forgotten – or forgiven – the incident, but I was surprised to see that he regarded Vignar with nearly equal contempt as me. The contrast between the two men couldn't be larger, though – a battle-hardened warrior in dirty, heavily used armour and with a big waraxe slung to his back against the white-haired, cultured patriarch by my side, holding himself straight despite his age and aware of his importance in his expensive, elegant clothes.

I was never so glad not to wear my old leathers as in this moment.

The eyes of both men were fixed on us, following our approach until we stood in front of the stairs to the Jarl's throne. Vignar bowed his head respectfully, and I followed his gesture while we waited for him to address us.

"Your visit is an unexpected pleasure," Ulfric said finally, his voice smooth, not addressing one of us personally. "It is good to see you again, old friend," he nodded to Vignar, "and you, Dragonborn." His eyes bored into mine, not smooth at all.

"That's still to be seen," his housecarl grunted, "an unexpected visit from Whiterun can mean everything. Has Balgruuf given the city to the Imperials? Or are the Companions ready to join our cause?" Galmar's gaze lingered on Vignar's Skyforge sword, a weapon I had never seen him use but a visible sign of his affiliation.

Ulfric waved at him to lay low. "Neither is very probable. No. To see you both here… it makes me hope that you're ready to deliver on your promise… Dragonborn." His gaze didn't leave my face for a single moment. And I already felt my blood heat up.

I knew what he meant. He talked about his prediction that I would have to choose a side in this war, sooner or later. And he knew as well as I that I didn't _promise_ him anything – not that I'd choose a side at all, and even less that I'd choose _his_.

"We aren't here to speak about matters of the past, promises or arguments," I said, failing to force a smile on my face. "It's our future that's at stake now."

"What are you talking about, woman? Speak clearly!" the housecarl barked, but now Ulfric interrupted him more openly.

"Galmar!" The man shut his mouth with a scowl. "Our future? Yes, I remember us talking about our future… the future of our land and our people…"

"I'm… we're not here because of your war, Sir," I said firmly, "respectively… only indirectly."

His eyes narrowed into an angry frown. " _My_ war? Why does this sound as if it was just my silly personal shenanigans when it comes from you?"

Damn. A single false word, and I effortlessly got on his wrong side. I tried not to cringe too obviously.

"Our war. This war. Don't start to split hairs, Ulfric," Vignar's calm voice chimed in.

But the contemptuous smirk on the Jarl's face put me off my stride. "Then stop trying to be diplomatic, Dragonborn," he grinned with barely concealed pretension. "Just say what you came for."

He was openly amused, and his amusement only grew when I glared at him. But I bit back the remark on my tongue that was so undiplomatic that it would have sent me back into his dungeon, met his piercing gaze and complied with his wish. "I need Whiterun safe from you until I've slain Alduin," I said bluntly.

The man showed impressive self-control, he showed neither surprise nor anger. Only a single eyebrow arched slightly as he propped his chin relaxed into his palm.

"Explain yourself," he said dryly.

"I fought Alduin once, and he escaped. To find him again, I have to trap one of his allies in Dragonsreach and force him to lead me to him. The keep has been used to trap a dragon before."

"Yes, Numinex. I know the story," Ulfric nodded.

"I need your warranty not to attack Whiterun while I try it."

Only Galmar's derogatory snort broke the silence while Ulfric Stormcloak scrutinised me from head to toes. I endured his stare as I endured the general's derisive laughter and that his master didn't stop him this time. But I felt relieved when his gaze finally turned to Vignar.

"Nice try, Dragonborn," Galmar spat in my direction, "but you should have tried to find something a bit more plausible than this abstruse tale."

"You support her in this madness, Grey-Mane?" Ulfric asked calmly.

"That's why I'm here, yes." The old man didn't falter.

Ulfric's eyes narrowed. "I could put you under arrest for treason."

"You have no reason to do so. I'm no traitor, and you know it, Ulfric." Vignar was as serene as in the moment we had entered the hall.

"Perhaps you're no traitor. But it seems a pretty face and a well thought out story are easily able to give you a run-around, old friend."

To see Vignar blush slightly made me cringe, but he didn't react openly to the barely veiled insult. "This is no story. It's our history come alive. Don't tell me you don't believe in the danger of Alduin the Worldeater, after everything that happened during the last months."

"Oh, but I do. I just don't believe it possible to trap a dragon in Whiterun again, not to speak of forcing him to help in killing his master. The idea alone is insane, and the possibility that this is a ruse of Balgruuf to escape or delay our march on his city is evidently much higher than the substance of this old wife's tale."

"Especially as our Dragonborn here is known to be a close friend of sworn Imperial allies," Galmar added with a smug grin.

"What are you talking about?" His reaction to my bewildered glare was an even broader smirk.

"Idgrod Ravencrone of Morthal," he spat full of disgust. "You _are_ friends, aren't you? One of the staunchest supporters of the Empire in all of Skyrim. Personal friend of General Tullius, she even has her own pet Legate," he sneered, triumph written into his face.

I froze. This was a low blow, lower than I had expected. I hadn't been in Morthal for months, and even then... she had declared more than once how much she liked Farkas and how much she valued his presence in her city. I had just been his wife. Only once, when I really needed her help, she had given her support without asking, and for that I cherished her. I wouldn't allow that she was belittled by this brute now.

I clenched my teeth as I met the Stormcloak's stern gaze, ignoring his subordinate. "Idgrod Ravencrone supports the Empire, that is true. But she's also the only one who doesn't let her loyalty blind her common sense, and she's the only one among you lot of Jarls who dares to stand up openly against the Thalmor."

"Against the Thalmor? That hag?" Galmar barked. "She licks their feet..."

"You have no idea!" I wanted to smash my fists into this complacent smirk, beat it into a bloody mess like I had done with his brother. The bitter taste of anger and hate puckered my mouth. "Only with her help I was able to infiltrate the Thalmor Embassy and find..."

Now it was Ulfric's turn to be surprised. "You? That ruckus in the Embassy last winter, that was you? Ambassador Elenwen wasn't seen in public for months after that!"

"Not me alone, no. But yes, I was… there."

"Our intelligence spoke of an assassin. No one mentioned the Dragonborn."

No, because everyone who had heard me shouting was dead shortly afterwards. And Delphine... yes, she had worked like an assassin. She was good at it.

"Your intelligence is incompetent. And I can prove it."

"Qhourian…" Vignar said appeasingly, but I ignored him. This _conversation_ had long evolved beyond diplomatic politeness. Perhaps it would have developed differently if Ulfric had kept his watchdog on a tighter leash, but now I would use what leverage I had. I drew a stack of parchments out of the small bag slung over my shoulder and threw it into Ulfric's lap.

"I'm not a bit surprised that they still regard _you_ as an asset. Zealots will always understand each other," I spat.

At first Ulfric only skimmed through the document, but then something caught his eye, and he read carefully. Several times. And he gave me the satisfaction to blanch before he regained his composure and looked up again.

"This is only a transcript." His voice was calm and menacing.

"Of course it is."

"Who knows of this?"

"Besides Elenwen, Vignar and me? At least three more persons."

"Who?"

I remained quiet. To see him finally lose his arrogant composure filled me with satisfaction.

"Speak, woman!" he roared, jumping to his feet and towering above us, his face twisted in wrath. There was a power in his furious yell that I recognised, but I didn't flinch under his outbreak and returned his murderous stare.

"Don't you dare to shout at me, Ulfric Stormcloak. I'll shout back."

I hadn't even finished the sentence when I heard the familiar scratching of metal against metal, and Galmar stood in front of the Jarl with his axe drawn.

"Don't _you_ dare to threaten the rightful High King of Skyrim in his own hall!" His fury was cold and restrained, the features under the bear mask were motionless, but I knew it took only a single false movement and I'd feel his steel instead of his anger. He would protect his master with his life.

But I couldn't afford to back out now, and Galmar understood only one language. I laid my hand on Dragonbane's hilt and didn't move a single inch. Too bad I had left my shield in the inn.

"Fortunately it takes more than your proclamation to make someone High King of Skyrim, Stone-Fist. And I did not threaten him. But I will defend myself."

"You will be dead before you can move," the general pressed out between gritted teeth, muscles tensing to strike. "Or breathe."

"Ulfric." Vignar's voice was calm and strong and echoed through the deadly silence in the hall. "Stop this madness. You don't know what's at stake."

The Jarl stood at the top of the stairs, still above us, watching the scene with haughty indifference, and his impassivity let me grow desperate. So much about keeping my temper in check. At the moment it didn't even look as if he would let us go unharmed, let alone listen to my pledge.

He watched the tense stance of his housecarl, Vignar's fearless but anxious look, and finally his gaze came to rest on me.

With slow steps he came down from his throne and laid a hand on the general's shoulder. "Galmar," he said in his rumbling voice, "don't scare our guests." His eyes glinted mockingly when he finally stood before me. I waited until Stone-Fist had strapped his axe to his back again before I removed my clenched fingers from my sword.

"Tell me, Dragonborn," he said nearly gently, "what exactly is at stake?"

I sighed deeply, stretching the strain out of my back. "I know the plan sounds insane, Jarl Ulfric. But it's the best we have to reach Alduin. It's the only one we have."

"Who is _we_?"

"You mean, who came up with it originally?"

"Yes. Don't try to tell me that it was you."

I wouldn't let him provoke me. Not again. "Paarthurnax."

A small smile appeared on his features. "Paarthurnax, yes. I should've known that you don't go any lower."

"Who is this Paarthurnax?" Galmar's voice sounded more annoyed than anything, and suddenly he stood beside the Jarl again. "And why isn't he here now? Perhaps he'd be more convincing than…"

But Ulfric only raised a hand to stop him. "He's… a colleague of yours, Galmar. Or ex-colleague. One of the best military leaders of all times." His smile transformed into a nearly conspiratorial grin as he studied my face. Against my will, I felt my lips curl upwards. He had a strange sense of irony, this Jarl.

"You have powerful allies."

"And powerful foes."

His eyes narrowed slightly. I didn't know myself if I even meant him with this remark – and if he'd take it as a compliment or an insult.

"You still haven't answered my question. What _exactly_ is at stake?"

I watched him for a moment. He seemed relaxed, but he wasn't. He was alert, even keen to hear my answer, but I had no idea if he'd like it. If he'd believe it. But I would have to try.

"Alduin is in Sovngarde. He feasts on the souls on the dead to strengthen his power for his final assault – and you know what that means, Jarl Ulfric. Only one of his allies can lead me to him… I have his name, I can call him, but the only means to force him to help is in Whiterun."

"Ulfric." The Jarl turned to his general who beckoned him to follow him into a corner. Ulfric went with him, hesitantly, and they stopped not far enough for my senses not to overhear them. "It's madness, but let's just say she isn't insane and doesn't lie," Galmar whispered. "We have to take Whiterun, and soon, remember what we've discussed. Imagine… Balgruuf's guard busy with a dragon, a dragon _she_ can control…"

Nobody expected the booming laughter the Jarl let out when he slapped his second in command on the back. And he didn't care to speak quietly. "Galmar… you're an excellent advisor and an even better strategist. But sometimes you're a fool. Really."

He turned back to us.

"Join me for dinner tonight, Dragonborn," he said, "I'll have your answer then. And you, Vignar… Avulstein is in the Rift, but Thorald is on duty here in Windhelm, and I'm sure he'll be glad to see his uncle. Tell him he has the evening off."

* * *

"That didn't go well, did it?" I was exhausted and frustrated, and I wanted nothing more than to drown my chagrin in a barrel of mead, but all Vignar allowed me was a single mug of hot cider when we were back at Candlehearth. At least it settled pleasing and soothing in my stomach.

"It could have gone better," Vignar replied dryly, "but also much worse."

"I'm sorry, Vignar. I… didn't listen to you," I said contritely. "But this Galmar…"

"He makes your blood boil, I know. Mine too. He _is_ an excellent strategist, and Ulfric needs him… but he's also a peerless bonehead."

I had to grin at his blunt words. "I wish you'd come with me tonight. But you're explicitly _not_ invited, aren't you?"

The old man smiled. "No, I'm not. And honestly… I don't think he really needs time to think over his decision. I think he has already made up his mind, and that he's just interested in you."

"Interested in me? Why?" My forehead furled in confusion. "Have I still not made clear enough that I won't join his cause?"

Vignar chuckled. "Yes, you have. And I think even Ulfric has gotten by now that you'd make a lousy soldier. No… he's interested in _you_. As a person, not as an asset. Perhaps he's bored of all this devoutness around him."

Despite Vignar's light-hearted words I was nervous and confused when I made my way through the dark city to the palace. And my nervousness was confirmed when I found the throne deserted and Ulfric nowhere to be seen. Holy Kyne, I really didn't want to meet this man anywhere else than in this huge hall where someone was always present, even if it were just a few servants. But I steeled myself when the Jarl's steward came to greet me and led me through long, dark hallways that looked exactly as barren as the ones that led to the prison.

But finally he knocked on a pair of intricately carved wooden doors, and they were opened immediately, as if Ulfric had waited behind them. "Thank you, Jorleif. We have everything we need," he said curtly and gestured me to come in before he closed the doors firmly.

I felt like being trapped.

Ulfric Stormcloak's quarters were nothing like I had imagined them. I expected luxury, expensive furniture, luscious carpets and sitting accommodations, perhaps a select collection of choice weapons or other signs of his power and merits. But although the room was warm and cosy, mostly due to the blazing flames in the gigantic fireplace, it was only sparsely furnished. A huge bed that looked as if it were only seldom used, a desk cluttered with parchments, a wardrobe and another table with two chairs that was now waiting for us.

Ulfric regarded me curiously while I took in my surroundings.

"I had hoped you'd wear something else tonight," he said with a small smile.

I showed him an arched eyebrow. "Something else?"

"Something… less martial."

"I'm afraid I don't possess anything less martial _and_ suitable for an occasion like this, Sir," I answered.

The Jarl grinned broadly. "With all due respect for Eorlund's excellent work… honestly, that's a shame."

He led me to the table and bid me to sit down, holding the backrest of my chair before he took the place at the opposite and started to serve us. His manners let my nervousness shoot through the ceiling, but he ate heartily while he watched me poke the tender pheasant roast, crispy potatoes and the tiny, dainty cooked carrots on my plate.

"Isn't the food to your liking? Perhaps some more wine?" he said with a small smile. I hadn't even touched my goblet so far and swallowed hard.

"It's delicious," I muttered, "it's just… have you come to a decision, Jarl Ulfric?"

He leant back in his chair and took a sip from his drink. "Call me Ulfric… Qhourian." It came out as an order. I cringed and couldn't hide it, and he noticed my shying away with a scowl.

"What's the matter with you, woman? Holy Talos, you look as if I'll grow black scales and eat you any moment! Relax!"

My face petrified. "Don't jest about the Worldeater, Sir."

He leant forwards sharply. "Is there anything else in that head of yours? Or is he all you can think of, Alduin and the end of the world?"

Slowly I shook my head. "I didn't know you were just looking for pleasurable company. I thought we have… business to discuss."

"If I wanted pleasurable company, I'd get a whore in my bed," he barked out, not caring for my reaction. "No, for once I wanted _interesting_ company."

He refilled his goblet with an impatient motion, took it and held it in the centre of the table. His gaze held a challenge. "Tell me, Dragonborn… what would you like to toast to?"

I took mine and turned it between my fingers, considering an answer that would please him and sound sincere at the same time.

"That Alduin may swallow Alinor before I kill him," I said with a small grin, and the Jarl laughed in a mixture of genuine amusement and astonishment before his goblet touched mine.

"You really think of nothing else." He pushed his plate away and stood up, beckoning me to follow him and taking seat in a cushioned armchair in front of the fire. On a small table beside him lay the stack of papers with the Thalmor Dossier.

"Let's talk business then. I guess I should thank you for this, even if you probably regret that you gave that trump so rashly out of your hands," he said dryly, tipping on the parchments. "But it doesn't mean anything for your trustworthiness. It doesn't mean that you're not affiliated to the Empire."

"I am not, Jarl Ulfric. Just as little as Vignar. He would have given the documents to you anyway if I hadn't done it… later. The Grey-Manes would never betray you."

He showed me a small smile. "I'm not so sure, honestly. You're very convincing. And it seems you're always Companions first and everything else second."

The thought he had phrased as an expression of his suspiciousness clenched my chest. Perhaps he would've been right a few weeks ago. Now being a Companion came far behind my duties as Dragonborn, and my affiliation only counted as long as it was useful.

"I wouldn't bring another Companion into such a predicament."

He skimmed again through the pages again, and his face became pensive, lost in thoughts. "You know what's most important in this document?"

I shook my head. It contained a lot of information about him that could be important – or dangerous. They believed they had broken him during his imprisonment after the war and that everything he had done since then served a purpose only they knew about. Certainly he was aware of that, but his gaze was fixed on a single page.

"That it wasn't my weakness that caused the fall of the Imperial City. I broke under Elenwen's torture… but in the end, it didn't matter."

This was thirty years ago, and it surprised me that he regarded this fact as the most important. But perhaps… guilt didn't know limitations.

"You seem to have a habit of overestimating your importance, Jarl Ulfric," I said with a small, ironic smile and got an unreadable expression in return. At least my impertinence didn't kindle his anger again.

"Have I now?"

"Yes. You haven't been a factor in the fall of the Imperial City," I said calmly, "and all your efforts now will be equally irrelevant if you don't let me do my job. You know that. You know that my war is more important than yours."

He leant with his elbows on his knees and stared into the fire as if it could reveal a deeper truth.

"We're humans, Dragonborn. And as humans, we form our destiny ourselves. We're able to change the way of the world. The Nerevarine, the Hero of Kvatch, Martin Septim – all of them were humans. Talos, the only mortal who ever ascended to godhood was a human. Others have tried, but they failed... the Dunmeri Tribunal, for example. I guess... perhaps we can wreak havoc in the ways of the world because our lives are so short, because we don't have to bear the consequences. The elves? They just adapt to the tide of times. But I believe that destinies can be changed, that we forge our own fortune and that prophecies don't have to come true. _That_ is important."

"But that's exactly what I'm trying to do," I said quietly. "I try to change the way of the world, and I try to make use of the abilities the gods have given me. What would _you_ do if you were in my place, Jarl Ulfric?"

His head turned to me, and a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. "That question isn't fair. I left High Hrothgar long before my time was up."

His gaze wandered over me again and rested finally on my face.

"May I ask you something? Something personal?"

I nodded hesitantly.

"Do you think you'd come back? From Sovngarde?"

"Yes." I didn't know if I'd come _back_ , but I hoped and prayed that I wouldn't have to stay there, even if it was the last step I made. He didn't have to know that my place was elsewhere.

"And… the father of your child… he lets you go?"

I stared at him and had to remind myself that he wasn't deliberately cruel. That he only wanted a bit of _interesting company_. "The father of my child is dead. Alduin killed him at the Throat of the World." I took a deep breath. "But yes… he would let me go."

Ulfric took in my clenched teeth and wide open eyes, and then he rose abruptly and turned to his desk, stood there motionless for long minutes, propped on his palms, his back turned to me.

"My apologies, Dragonborn," he said stiffly before he gathered himself and took a sealed parchment that lay on top of a stack.

"Here," he handed it to me, "this decree will become valid as soon as you get something similar from Tullius. Just don't forget to inform me when that's the case." The small, ironic smile of his was back when he saw me clutch it to my chest. Vignar had been right, he had made up his mind even before I entered this room.

* * *

 _Be careful with the Thalmor, their headquarter is within the walls of Castle Dour,_ he had said. _You'll need a disguise if you march right into the lion's den,_ he had said. _Try to get in contact with Legate Rikke,_ he had said. _She's a real Nord and the General's closest advisor. Tullius himself is just an Imperial pighead with no understanding of our culture,_ he had said.

As if my task was his as well suddenly, as if he felt responsible. But perhaps someone like Ulfric Stormcloak always felt responsible. Or he hated the feeling not to be involved, not to be in control. Or he wanted me to feel obliged to him. Or he actually cared for the souls of his soldiers that had become Alduin's feast. Whatever.

When he led me to the door where his steward was already waiting, a heavy hand came to rest on my shoulder, and a grin flashed up in his face. "Always a pleasure to make business with you, Dragonborn. Although Galmar will kill me for this."

"I guess he'd prefer to kill _me_ instead," I said with a weak smile, and he smiled back, genuine and open.

"Good luck, Qhourian," he said, and he meant it.

While Vignar and Brill returned to Whiterun, I took the carriage directly from Windhelm to Solitude instead, my armour hidden beneath a lose, shabby dress and a thick cloak, boots and gauntlets changed against simple leather items, my hair unbraided, tied back in a bun and hidden under a simple cowl. I felt strange, nearly naked without my braids and my warpaint, but I had to avoid attention at all costs.

The wagon took me to Dragon Bridge from where I made the rest of the way by foot, and when I entered the gates of the city with a group of merchants and farmers in the early morning, I looked easily exhausted and dirty enough to pass off as one of them. None of the guards only gave me a second look.

But I still didn't have a plan how to get access to the General. I couldn't take a room at the Winking Skeever – not many people in Solitude knew me, but I had spent enough nights at the inn for the innkeeper to recognise me if he took a closer look. I couldn't simply write a note to General Tullius and ask for an appointment, like Vignar had done it with Ulfric. And I didn't dare just to stroll into the castle and search for him there. What reason would a simple peasant woman have to do this? I had no contacts, no starting point in Solitude I could use.

The city drove me insane. It was too big, too full, too loud, full of rampaging gangs of children, yelling merchants, drunken veterans slurring the stories of their lives to themselves and every passer-by who did or did not listen, the neat lines of soldiers parading through the streets, their cadence thundering a violent rhythm on the cobblestones. And in between all this, over and over again the dark figures of grey-robed Justiciars or the gleaming armours of their guards, always in pairs or threes, unpredictable, appearing behind a corner or in a doorway where I expected them least.

I needed a place for a rest and some quiet to think, to come up with a plan, and I found it in the only place only Nords would ever enter voluntarily. The Halls of the Dead were cool and dark, a large narrow room, only dimly lit by a few candles. The Shrine of Arkay was placed prominently near the entrance, but I ignored it, ignored the stench of decay and of the alchemical substances used to prepare the bodies, ignored the elderly priest who knelt quietly in a niche and found a place at the back of the room, hidden between coffins and urns.

Nothing disturbed the silence down here, the world above shut out by heavy doors and the instinctive fear the living harbour for the dead. I had lost this fear with the excess of death in my life, I knew they would not haunt me, and I let the silence fill me.

Perhaps this was my place in the world, among the dead and alone with myself. The thought brought a strange peace to my mind, and for a moment the life above me was forgotten.

The priest ignored me, perhaps he thought I prayed. I didn't, at least not to Arkay, and perhaps he even forgot about me, because he resumed his work after his own prayer without shame, oiled a naked corpse lying on a stone platform, the waxen skin becoming glossy and smooth. The fragrance of the essences he used rose into my nose with the scent of incense and cedar wood, and the movements of his hands had something strangely familiar.

He was a priest, and as a priest, he was also a healer. His movements, his carefulness and the admiration in his face as he treated this lifeless body reminded me of Danica's treatment of the injured soldiers in her temple or of the things the Khajiit woman had done to me. Bodies that needed care, that was their concern.

Healers were needed everywhere, especially during a war.

And the door to the small chamber where he spent his resting hours was out of his sight but easily approachable by me, crouched into the shadows, the steps in my soft leather boots inaudible. He didn't even have a closet, but a single spare robe hang on a hook right behind the door.

When I left the Halls as silently as I had come, a the simple brown robe with long sleeves and a large hood was stuffed into my pack. I would bring it back, but now I needed it more urgently than he.

Nobody paid any attention to the figure in a long, distinctive robe, hood drawn into her face, hands folded and hidden in long, wide sleeves as she hurried through the garrison, head lowered but with swift, firm steps.

Not even the Thalmor I met on my erratic way through Castle Dour gave me a second glance, although every single one of these encounters sent shivers of fear and fury down my spine, my senses full of the stench of magic and cruelty.

I couldn't ask where to find the General without raising suspicion, and so I let myself lead by my instincts, avoided the dark, sparsely lit hallways and searched along the well populated areas, where soldiers and officers hurried along on their way to their next duty, to their cot or to drinks and whores.

But in the end I found him, and this time the goddess of luck smiled down on me, because the stern Nord woman in his company had to be Legate Rikke. The warroom of General Tullius looked astonishingly similar to the one of Ulfric Stormcloak in the Palace of the Kings, Tullius pacing in front of a table with the familiar huge Skyrim map that was adorned with the familiar allocation of red and blue flags. The heavily armed woman leant with her palms on the table, following the General's pace with a subtle movement of her head.

The weirdest thing about the whole scene was the human skull that was used on one corner of the table to keep the map flat.

"He will march on Whiterun," the woman said sternly, "he has to, or his alliance will break apart. And he needs Balgruuf's resources."

"Rikke… he doesn't have the men to take Whiterun. It would be insane, especially now in winter!"

"Whiterun is warmer than Windhelm at the moment," the woman snorted. "We should prepare for his attack. We have to convince Balgruuf to let us garrison our troops in his city. Or take it by force, if we have to, but we can't afford to lose it to the Stormcloaks."

I stood in the doorway and cleared my throat audibly.

"No, he won't."

Both heads spun around sharply, and the Legate had her sword drawn in an instant, but the confusion about the intrusion of a nameless priestess was obvious in both of their faces.

"Who are you?"

The Legate retained her aggressive stance as I pushed back the hood of my robe, but the General's eyes grew wide, sudden recognition flaring through his features. I eyed him curiously, somehow he looked different than I remembered him from the event at the Embassy. Not only didn't he wear the heavy ornated plate he had worn then but a lighter leather cuirass, his white hair was cut even shorter and accentuated his receding hair line, and he looked… smaller. More tired.

"You're…"

"Qhourian, from Whiterun. You know me as Dragonborn." I bowed my head. "General."

He straightened himself with a frown. "Whatever you want, you're a fool to come here. I should arrest you right here and now and pass you to the Thalmor."

He didn't even show a tiny little bit of curiosity about the reasons for my hazardous visit, and it was to assume that nice words wouldn't change that. I tried it with bluntness.

"It was hard enough to find you, General. I've a proposition to make… concerning Ulfric, the war and the plans of both parties concerning Whiterun."

The general made a small gesture to the Legate, and the woman sheathed her sword with evident reluctance. But she remained alert, I saw it in her stance and in the way her hand always lingered near the hilt.

"You're no Stormcloak," the General said, "my intelligence would know if the Dragonborn had joined the enemy. What can you know about his plans?"

"Nothing, General," I said with a light smile, "as you've said, I'm not involved in this war, and I'd prefer it to stay that way. But I can assure you that Ulfric won't march on Whiterun as long as you don't either."

"And why would he give such a warranty? And even more important – how do _you_ know?"

"Because he has promised to leave Whiterun alone as long as I'm busy trying to stop Alduin the Worldeater. And I ask the same of you."

The Legate's stance changed suddenly from aggressive to attentive, but absolute incomprehension was written into the General's face. His eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Do I understand you correctly? You expect me to plan my war around some obscure Nordic myth?"

"Let me explain, Sir. Please." I didn't wait for his reaction and spoke on. "I need Whiterun – Dragonsreach, the Jarl's palace, to be exact – to trap a dragon, an ally of Alduin. He's the only one who can take me to him before it's too late."

But I knew my attempts to explain myself were futile as soon as I started. General Tullius was no Nord, and even worse, he was a soldier to the core. He had an order to fulfil, and he thought in military units, victories and casualties. The end of the world as predicted in a weird prophecy didn't matter to him, and his reaction confirmed my worst concerns.

"I have a war to win, Dragonborn," he said dryly, "and your prophecies and your Nordic sense for honour and traditions have been nothing but a nuisance so far. If it gives me an advantage over that traitor for once, give me a single reason why I shouldn't use it."

Holy Kyne. At least Ulfric understood and accepted the danger of Alduin. This man was as oblivious as ignorant, and I had no idea how to break the shell of his narrow-mindedness.

"Sir… perhaps we should listen to her. If it's about Alduin…" The Legate stood straight and faced her commander, causing his face to frown in confusion.

"Legate? You seriously want to suggest that you believe in this nonsense?"

"Yes, Sir. Alduin the Worldeater. Predicted to come at the end of times, together with the last Dragonborn."

"Holy Eight, is everybody going mad?" Both ignored me completely in the meantime. "Alduin here, Alduin there, if I hear that name once again I'm gonna go and slay him myself! Gods, he's only a dragon, and this woman as well as our troops and the guards of every single hold have proven a hundred times that they can be killed, and easily!"

Now it broke out of me. "He isn't _only a dragon_ , Sir! He's the Firstborn of Akatosh, the Worldeater and Devourer of Souls! Do you have any idea what that _means_?"

He stared coldly at me. "I don't _care_ what that means, Dragonborn. If Ulfric is weak enough to refrain from a move he has to make if he has any strategic reason because of a lousy prophecy, I will beat him to it." Something sinister played in the corners of his mouth. "Thank you kindly for this information. Let's see if the traitor stands to his word to leave Whiterun alone when he learns of _my_ move."

He turned around and beckoned to the Legate. "Rikke, find a guard and remove this woman from the Castle. And give out orders that every priest caught anywhere outside of the sickbay is to be arrested immediately."

I had not only not been successful, I had made everything only worse.

How could I ever think I could just stroll into the warroom of the Imperial Legion and convince someone like Tullius of my plan? It was madness… and it must have sounded like madness to him.

The Legate's face was stoic as she led me through the dark aisles of the Castle, but she didn't stop one of the guards we met to get rid of me and instead held my elbow in a firm grip. And she didn't lead me to the exit, but to a small chamber, furnished with nothing but a raw cot, a chest and a small desk. As soon as the door was firmly shut, she turned to me with a serious expression.

"I risk my rank with this, Dragonborn," she said sternly. "Explain yourself. Now."

I didn't dare to show the new hope her words kindled in me. "What do you want to know?"

"Alduin. Where is he, what is he doing, and what can _you_ do to stop him."

"I've fought him once, and he escaped. According to Paarthurnax… you know who Paarthurnax is?"

"No."

Of course not. "He's the leader of the Greybeards. Alduin's brother and his former right hand. He lives on top of the Throat of the World."

She gasped. "The leader of the Greybeards is a Dragon?"

"Yes. He is… impressive. And according to him, Alduin is in Sovngarde and feasts on the souls of the dead. This war provides him with plenty of prey," I laughed bitterly.

"My only chance to get to him is one of his allies. He fled when I fought him… and Paarthurnax hopes that this has shaken their loyalty. I have a name, I can call him… but the only means to force him to betray his master is to trap him in Dragonsreach. And Balgruuf won't help if Whiterun isn't safe while he houses a dragon."

The woman dropped heavily onto a chair and stared in disbelief.

"You really mean that. Tullius is right… that _is_ insane."

"I know," I said with a feeble grin, "but it's the only plan we have." It felt irreal how the arguments repeated themselves, how disbelief and doubts of my sanity were all I met wherever I came. And on some level, I could understand these people.

She beckoned me to sit down, uncorked a bottle of mead and offered me another one. She looked astonished when I refused, but her face fell into utter bewilderment when I stretched the lose robe over my body. "You're pregnant?"

I just nodded. It was a rhetorical question, and it wasn't important anyway. I had to come to terms with this woman.

"Why have you brought me here instead to throw me out, Legate?"

She looked at me from beneath her thick, brown hair that was neatly braided out of her face, the prominent line between her brows deepening. "I stand loyal to the Empire, but I'm also a Nord, and I know when my superiors are wrong. And at the moment, Tullius is wrong. As a true daughter of Skyrim, I believe that Alduin is much more than just a dragon. And I believe that you're the only one who can stop him."

Now a small smile settled in the corners of her lips. "And you're brave to come here, right under the eyes of the Thalmor. I can respect that, and such daredevilry deserves to be rewarded."

"And how will this reward look like?" I asked stiffly.

"I will throw my by no means inconsiderable influence into the balance and speak with Tullius – in a few days, when his mood is better because we will have taken another Stormcloak fort for the Legion. That's what I'm gonna set out for in the morning. And you will use this delay and do me a favour."

She said it as a matter of fact, as if there was absolutely no doubt that I'd let her rope me in for her cause. All this… it was humiliating. To be dismissed like that by her boss. To be robbed of my mobility, caught in this small room under her guard with no means to escape. And to be pressed into her service.

"Will you force me to join the Legion?" The idea filled me with revulsion, but she had the power to do so. And if I had to, I'd do what she demanded. If it was the only way to get Tullius' cooperation, I would even help him win this war.

The open hostility in my voice made her grin. "I could, couldn't I?" She watched my anxiety with superior amusement. "Honestly, I'm surprised that you haven't taken a side yet. Preferably ours, of course, but I haven't met many Nords that don't have at least an opinion."

"I'll tell you the same I told Ulfric Stormcloak when he tried to make me join his ranks. That my war is more important than yours."

The supremacy slowly left her face, and she regarded me thoughtfully. "And you'd do everything to win your war. No matter what."

I didn't answer.

"Have you ever heard of the Jagged Crown, Dragonborn?" It seemed she was clever enough to end this argument before it had opportunity to escalate.

"No. What's that?"

"The Jagged Crown… it's another of our Nordic myths," she said with a weak grin, "and that's why I need your help with it. And no, you don't have to join the Legion to do me that favour."

I gave her an arched, questioning eyebrow. "It's the crown of King Harald, back from the first era, and it's said to hold a part of his and of his predecessors' power. But it's been lost… since about 200 years later, with the defeat of King Borgas during the Wild Hunt."

Another artefact. I had heard dozens of myths, tales and rumours concerning one or another item from ancient times, each of which granted the wearer some powers not entirely from this world, and I had even reclaimed some of them myself. Tattered pieces of armour, broken swords, enchanted amulets, unique books. Trinkets of all kinds. It seemed another of these things had decided to resurface… as soon as I had freed it from the depths of a crypt or tomb where it was undoubtedly hidden away.

Or not.

Because I knew the story – or history – of the Wild Hunt, the ritual the Bosmer of Valenwood performed when the need arose to protect their homeland from invaders. Anoriath, one of the local hunters in Whiterun, had once told me about it.

"Borgas died in Valenwood. I won't be able to make that journey in a few days."

"It's only a legend, but legends tend to hold a grain of truth, and this legend tells us that Borgas was brought home and buried here in Skyrim. His tomb was lost, though… until recently, but whoever finds the crown will have a powerful symbol to support the claim to the title of High King, towards the moot as well as towards the people of Skyrim."

"And now you want me to find this thing for Elisif," I said dryly, but I felt the fury coil in my stomach. I couldn't help it, of course she'd made use of her position of power, but I hated to be abused so openly.

She nodded. No use in trying to beat around the bush. "The problem is, the Stormcloaks know about it as well. Don't ask me how they found out about it, we only got the information because we captured one of their messengers. But it's only a legend, and Tullius refuses to spare any resources for this search. For this chase after a fairy tale, as he called it."

Awesome. Snatch a priceless artefact right under the eyes of Ulfric's soldiers and give it to his sworn enemy and biggest rival. I was by no means duty bound to the Stormcloak, but this felt remarkably like betrayal.

It _was_ betrayal, and it felt like taking a side, no matter if I was forced or not.

"This is no simple favour, Legate. Do I get respite?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. Her smirk showed that I wasn't successful in hiding my anger, but this woman wasn't easily to frighten.

"Of course. Until tomorrow morning, and you will stay here till then. But if you refuse, I'll throw you not only out of the castle, but out of the city. And believe me, I can make sure that you'll never be able to enter Solitude again."

She extorted me openly and without shame, and her complacency left me speechless. She had me in her grip.

But my war was more important than hers, and I had to do everything that was necessary to win it.


	16. Korvanjund

The tomb where I was supposed to search for the Jagged Crown was a crypt called Korvanjund in the southern Pale. Stormcloak territory, another reason why Rikke couldn't just send her own troops, and the easiest and fastest way to get there was via Whiterun. The Legate made sure personally that I climbed the wagon with the first light of the sun and gave the driver the orders herself. And she grinned broadly when I handed her the robe that had served me so well and asked her to give it back to Styrr in the Halls of the Dead.

"You _stole_ it?"

"I borrowed it," I said sternly.

She smirked. "Yes, of course." She held out her hand as if she wanted me to take it. "I count on you, Dragonborn."

"And I on you, Legate." As much as I hated what I had to do now, the feeling of relief when the armoured figure and the whole city vanished in the distance was overwhelming.

The feeling of unease came back when Whiterun loomed in the distance. That sight that was so beautiful, especially at night when the lights from the wind district and Dragonsreach blinked far over the plains, now its familiarity caused a lump in my stomach. It wasn't Breezehome that caused this dread, not the memories of Farkas. Those were buried, too deep to affect me. The dead didn't haunt me, the dead were gone, and nothing could bring them back.

I could live with all the deaths I had suffered. I couldn't change them, I had to endure them, and I did. The pain was locked away. It were the living who haunted me. The thought of the bustling life in Jorrvaskr, Athis' words and my own weakness, he and Vignar and Vilkas and all the other Companions I hadn't seen for weeks, the grief they could allow themselves to feel because they could share it.

For a single moment, when the wagon rolled up the street towards the stables and the driver threw a friendly greeting towards Bjorlam who was feeding his horses, the feeling of coming home overwhelmed me like a floodwave, the knowledge that people were waiting for me, people I wanted to be with. I missed them so much, I wanted so much to step through the doors of Jorrvaskr and have someone, anyone to lean against. Simple company. But I knew it wasn't possible. I had to exclude them, for me and for them. Alduin was my duty and mine alone, and I wouldn't risk to bring anyone else into danger.

I would never again be a Companion first and everything else second. I was Dragonborn first, and it left nothing else to be, and I entered the house without another look towards the upper levels of the city.

Time was of the essence to get to the tomb, but it was late at night when I arrived, and I had to stock up on supplies, potions and arrows before I set off for the march to Korvanjund. And I had to change my equipment – I wouldn't be caught, but if I the Stormcloaks were indeed already there and I was seen, I had to avoid to be recognised at all costs. Every single distinctive piece of gear had to stay at home.

With the first morning light I was prepared, clad in simple clothes under my cloak, a short Dwemer sword I had found in Blackreach and an Orcish dagger strapped to my hips, another one hidden in a sheath on my left boot. After a short visit to the Drunken Huntsman my quiver was filled with arrows, and my knapsack was stuffed with the folded Dark Brotherhood armour I had always kept for who knew what reason. It didn't provide the protection I was used to and I didn't want to wear it in the city, but it was perfect to move quietly, and it included a masked hood that would conceal my features if necessary. No one who accidentally saw me in it would guess that it was me.

"Qhouri?"

I was already hurrying along the empty street from Arcadia's apothecary to the gates when the familiar voice called after me. I froze in my steps, and at the same moment I knew that I had given myself away and that every attempt to escape Ria now would only rouse even more suspicion. Two Companions chasing each other through the city would make even the laziest guard alert. When I heard her fast steps approaching, I waited for her.

"Qhouri!" Her face was so amicable when she embraced me closely, it made me choke. "We didn't know you're back from Solitude. How did it go? Vignar has told us everything about your meeting with Ulfric, that must have been so exciting!" She babbled, excited and agitated, and went beside me further down the street. Only when we had passed Breezehome and I still didn't answer she regarded me more closely, saw my close-mouthed expression, the missing armour and the martial assortment of weapons I carried, and her torrent of words suddenly stopped with a frown of confusion.

"You're leaving again?"

Now I turned fully to her. She wore her usual steel armour, but instead of the bow and shortsword she had favoured recently, she had an impressive greatsword strapped to her back, the weapon with the ice enchantment we had once taken from a draugr. Seemed that Vilkas had taken over her training again, I thought absentmindedly.

"Yes. Sorry Ria, I don't have time…"

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Where are you going? Are you going alone?" The sharp questions were moderated by a genuine, compassionate smile.

To explain myself and what I was going to do was the last I wanted, and I couldn't bear her friendly, probing curiosity any more. It wasn't her business, and I cut her off. "Sorry… but I got to go. Don't tell the others that I've been here… please."

I didn't wait for her answer and let her stand on the spot, the guards swiftly opening the gate when they saw me approach. She didn't follow, but her hurt, incomprehensive face stung. She was just friendly, she didn't deserve such a treatment, but she wouldn't understand. And the times when she could have accompanied me as a shield-sister were over.

* * *

Korvanjund was weird, at least from the outside. Instead of the familiar narrow dome or the masoned pit in flat terrain that usually formed the entrances, the access to this crypt was built into the end a rocky cleft, extended and reinforced by man-made walls, its bottom only accessible by narrow, steep steps. And right above the familiar heavy metal doors I spotted the flickering of several small camp-fires, clearly visible in the long shadows of the setting sun.

The Stormcloaks were already here. I cursed inwardly, this would make my task much more difficult, especially as I didn't know if some of them had already entered the tomb.

Crouching in the shadows I tried to assess how many soldiers Ulfric had sent. It weren't many, perhaps a dozen, but what made me especially alert was that Galmar Stone-Fist was amongst them. While Tullius refused to send any forces at all to search for this artefact that so far wasn't much more than a rumour – or a fairy tale -, Ulfric even sent his right hand to guarantee success. He obviously thought it worth it… especially as he probably had more and better information about it than just the tidbit the Legion had gathered from that unlucky courier.

Perhaps in the end the fact that the Stormcloaks were here, and Galmar among them, was a good sign.

I didn't linger long in the vicinity of the camp, only long enough to get one essential information the General shared involuntarily with me when he admonished his soldiers in his booming voice and with a tankard in his hand to get a good night's rest before they'd storm the crypt with the first morning light. He only got some jovial laughter which he returned. And I knew that I had exactly one night to accomplish my task undisturbed.

To reach the bottom of the cleft and enter the crypt unseen was the easiest part, they didn't even place guards at the entrance. Either they didn't even know the Legion had the information about the crown as well, or they thought the guards at the surface would suffice, but I was safe as soon as I slipped through the heavy metal doors. The slight creaking of the ancient hinges was easily drowned out by the howling wind in the cleft and the laughter and conversations of the men and women above me.

The entrance opened into a large, roughly circular room, in its centre a raw stoneblock with a few urns on top, its back ascending in a broad stairway that led first to a gallery, the niches filled with broken shelves and more urns, and then into a narrow hallway that led further into the tomb.

A typical entrance hall, not much different from so many others I had visited. At least it was free of coffins. Which meant I wouldn't have to leave telltale corpses behind right at the beginning.

My plan was as simple as half-baked. I had to hurry, and I had to avoid wasting time with fighting - to sneak by as many draugr as possible and fight only when I absolutely had to would accomplish both goals at once. This would spare me precious time, and it had the additional advantage to leave a distraction behind me if I didn't make it out before the Stormcloaks came in.

Usually I hated to leave anything living – or unliving – behind, the eerie feeling that something could tip on my shoulder any moment making it hard to concentrate on what lay before me. Especially as nobody really knew what caused the undead to rise, walk and fight, but now I didn't have a choice. On the other hand it was also the first time that I visited such a crypt all on my own. I had always been with a shield-sibling so far, someone who had my back and usually someone who woke every living and dead thing in these walls by his mere presence.

But it went well – at first. Fortunately the undead were noisy, their irregular shuffling steps and the clanking of their rusty armours and weapons audible from far away. But the hallways I crawled through were old, winded and partly collapsed, and every sound echoed in a way that made it impossible to estimate distances. More than once adrenaline pulsed violently through my veins when I finally climbed over a pile of debris or rounded a corner just to find myself face to face with a pair those hateful eyes, burning with the eerie fire of a foul life-force that was worse than death. But I was silent and quick, quicker than they with their heavy weapons and clumsy movements, my sword tore silently through dry muscles and brittle sinews, and in the end I left most of the coffins and sarcophagi undisturbed.

Until I entered the upper level of another large room, carefully stepping over a pressure plate. Small tubes sticking out of the archway suggested that it would trigger either poisoned darts or streams of fire. The walls of the chamber below me were lined by coffins and guarded by two enormous draugr with black horned helmets, one of them armed with a vicious greatsword, the other with the glow of magic glimmering in his decayed palms. This one was the more dangerous, and my arrow killed him silently. Only his collapse wasn't quiet enough, and with his death the coffins broke open all at once and released their residents, their heads moving erratically, searching for the intruder. It looked as if they sniffed the air.

I cursed silently, crouching like frozen behind a massive pillar that held a wooden walkway high above the floor. I had to get down there, could already see the gate that would let me proceed. Slowly I drew my bow and aimed for the second of the initial guards, but his movements were too unpredictable and he evaded the arrow in the last possible moment, the arrow flying past his head and coiling against the wall.

Now they knew where I was, strange hissing indicating their alertness. A single narrow stair led up to my hiding place, the wooden construction brittle and unstable, and I positioned myself now at its top, nocking another arrow. At least they wouldn't be able to reach me all at once, and I was able to force the first onslaught back by shooting the first living corpses from the stair back down. But then the second draugr lord came up, his greatsword crackling with lightning magic, and his larger range forced me to take a step back. But in the confined space on the stairs and beset by his comrades from behind, he didn't have the space and leverage to use his weapon like it was meant to, in those wide, powerful swings that were able to cleave a man in half.

I closed in on him where he could hurt me least and forced the Dwemer blade into his rotten flesh. The light beneath the helmet flickered and he swayed, the blade still buried between his ribs, and the moment he tilted away, lost balance and tore the metal from his chest, he shouted.

_"FUS RO!"_

The strength of his shout sent me flying backwards, away from my convenient position, and in flying I saw him flail and topple and fall, freeing the way for the Draugr that pushed past him.

For an agonising moment everything went black, the impact of my head on the floor shooting with white-hot lightning through my brain.

It was the heat that let me come round. Heat that streamed over my face and the thin leather of my armour, and the roar of a firestorm that tore through my ears.

The draugr had shouted me into the hallway I had come from, and of course I had landed directly on the pressure plate that triggered the trap. Fire shot from metal bushes set into both sides of the stone arc, the fiery streams crossing each other and forming an impenetrable net of flaming jets. And I wasn't roasted yet only because I lay flat on my back.

It was ridiculous. And even more ridiculous were the draugr waiting on the other side, shuffling and teeming, not daring to come too close to the deadly blasts.

I would have liked to wave at them, but instead I squirmed backwards, as flat to the ground as possible, to get out of the reach of the flames.

And when I could stand again, I bathed them in my Dragonfire, eliminating them once and for all. Galmar Stone-Fist would have a hard time to explain this heap of smouldering mess.

The tomb wasn't only huge, fitting for a king of the first era, it was also a horrible maze. I searched what seemed like hours for the lever to open the gate I had cleared so thoroughly, wandering and crawling through side corridors filled with traps that promised very imaginative kinds of very messy deaths. And when I could finally go on, it only became worse. I spent ages examining dead ends, but at least most of the niches with dead bodies remained undisturbed by my silent inspection. If Galmar took the same way, he would find more resistance than I.

When I finally reached the Hall of Stories, the broad, large aisle with walls covered in the typical reliefs and the equally typical door with the three concentric stone circles, I sighed with relief. I hadn't found the key so far, the claw that would reveal the solution to the puzzle and fit into the notches in its centre, but the pair of draugr guarding it were nothing if not but a safe bet to have it. And now I had plenty of space to aim, the first one went down with the first arrow, the second took three, but he collapsed halfway between me and the door. And he had the claw in his possession, pitch black and made from a strange, incredibly hard wood I had never seen before.

But even more dark aisles followed, more burial chambers, more dead ends riddled with traps, and slowly I became impatient. It was hard to estimate time down here, but I knew that mine ran out, and I was exhausted, battered and bruised, many non-serious wounds adding up to an overall ache that made every crouched step a painful effort.

And I had to admit that I wasn't as resilient any more as I had been only a few weeks ago, tired easier and had less stamina, and it took longer to catch my breath and get going again after each fight than I was used to. It was annoying, and it made me worry. I couldn't afford to show weakness now, but pregnancy obviously didn't go well with this line of work.

To reach the final room, the throne room of king Borgas released new energy though, especially as I felt the familiar tug on my conscience from a wordwall in the background. Four huge stone pillars framed a platform in the centre of the vast hall, adorned with intricately carved bearded faces and the characteristic stylised dragon heads, their large toothless fangs pointing towards the ornamental throne standing in the middle. And on it sat a motionless corpse, slumped down like in deep slumber, clad in shimmering armour and with an unusual helmet on his head.

Even from the distance I saw that this wasn't the typical crown, no gold, no precious gems glittering in the dim light of the ever burning firebowls hanging from the ceiling. No, it looked vicious, framing the deformed face with something that looked like fangs and bones.

Familiar fangs and bones. If I wasn't mistaken, this thing was made of the remains of a dragon.

I exhaled slowly, crouching in the shadows behind the entrance, and breathed in again equally concentrated to shut out the call of the Word of Power, to cast off the weakness in my arms and shoulders and get a single, straight shot. Experience told me that I had only one try before all hell would break lose in this room, and the tip was coated in poison.

Briefly I wondered why poison worked on Draugr at all, with them having no blood circulation any more. But this was one of the questions that was equally unanswerable as the one where they got the breath to shout from.

The arrow flew, I followed the trajectory of the tip with my enhanced senses, and it hit. Right into the chest of the dead king, not into his throat where I had aimed. I cursed inwardly, the Draugr had jerked up the moment I let the missile fly, perhaps he had heard the buzzing of the bowstring that disturbed the deadly silence of his tomb.

And of course, as if he had given a hidden signal, with his first motion he got company, three more draugr gathering around their king like his bodyguard before they moved into my direction.

One of them was a mage, and I took him out first, their slow movement giving me opportunity to hit him with several arrows until he collapsed. And when the strange parade came too close, I made use of the vastness of the hall and their natural brainless stupidity, moved backwards along the wall and fired arrow after arrow, easily escaping their attempts to come close enough for a sword strike.

Only Borgas himself didn't want to die to this tactics. Even in death he was larger than I, tough and much better armoured than his fellows, many arrows simply recoiling from the massive iron plate he wore. Triumph seemed to gleam in the blue light flaring from his empty eye-sockets when the hand reaching into my neck only found an empty quiver. And at the same moment I felt a shift in the air that let me hold my breath, a barely audible noise, a change in the faint breeze that went through the tomb.

My time was over. I wasn't alone any more.

Sword and dagger drawn I fell into a crouched defensive stance, waiting for the undead to come close, his sword held high over his head. I didn't want to use a Shout against him, not with the risk of others hearing it. Although I knew it would take the Stormcloaks at least a few hours to reach this chamber, I didn't know how near it was to the entrance – entirely possible it lay right behind one of the walls, considering the circular layout of many of these tombs.

The draugr lord was faster, stronger and much more agile than the usual undead, and to go into close combat with him was hazardous. So far I had clenched my teeth and gone with desperate determination into every fight I couldn't avoid, even if I had to force down the urge to look over my shoulder, slink back and wait for my companion to storm ahead. I wasn't used to fight alone, but I wasn't helpless.

Only now, as I blocked his weapon with my much shorter sword, hilts locked above our heads and the strength of his assault nearly breaking my wrist, I thought for a moment that I wouldn't make it. That it was insane to fight an undead king all on my own, that his tomb would become mine as well when he sliced me in half. He forced me to withdraw my weapon with a push that let me stumble backwards.

Despite the weight of his weapon and armour, he came at me with alarming speed, and he chased me backwards through the room while I tried to avoid his cleaves and not to trip over steps and scattered corpses. Sweat ran down my back, my thighs and shoulders aching.

"Godsdammit," I cursed under my breath when the tip of his sword sliced right through the thin leather of my cuirass and along my ribs, the warm wetness of blood soaking the armour.

This fight had to end fast, and instead just to wait for a gap in his cover, I had to force him to make a mistake. I led him towards one of the massive stone pillars and allowed him to trap me with my back to the stone. If I didn't know better I could have sworn that his rotten teeth grinned grinned with malice and triumph when his sword first swung high, then came down in a huge arc, aiming for my neck.

It would have split me in half down to my navel if I had still been there. But I used the curve of the pillar to twist to the side and backwards at the same time, and the heavy, sparking impact of metal on stone nearly tore the sword out of the draugr's hands and let him stumble against the column. The precious moment he needed to regain his balance was enough to get behind him and lodge sword and dagger in swift strikes into his neck.

I fell to my knees, fighting for breath. This had been too close. But beneath the adrenaline-fuelled exhaustion rose some kind of triumph. I had made it, all on my own. "Rest in peace, my king," I muttered when I pulled the crown from his head. It was a hideous thing, indeed made of dragon teeth and bones, and I stuffed it deep into my pack before I made for the wordwall in the back of the hall.

 _"Klo"_ , sand, the second Word of Power in the Shout that enabled me to slow down time around me was Korvanjund's gift. It alone was reward enough for all the effort it had taken to get here, and I felt deep satisfaction when its meaning settled inside of me.

The burial chamber of King Borgas had another exit, just like I had hoped, and I nearly ran along the hallway in my eagerness to get out. Only when I was already about to throw open the heavy wooden bar that locked the last door, I came to my senses. Faint voices were audible behind it, the voices of a man and a woman. It seemed Galmar had left a guard at the entrance to the tomb.

I was able to remove the bar and to open the door only a crack quietly enough to remain undetected. It led directly into the entrance hall, to the level on top of the broad stairway, and I could see the exit from my position. It wasn't far, and but it seemed impossible to reach without being seen with the soldiers standing only a few feet away. And I didn't want to kill them, not if I didn't have to.

But I had more tools in my bag of tricks than others.

 _"Tiid Klo,"_ I whispered under my breath, testing the just gained new power, and the familiar feeling of timelessness set in at once. The breathing and the heartbeats of the people in the other room slowed down, their whispered conversation became incoherent, slurred, elongated syllables. When the first drew his head in slow-motion to find out where that grinding noise came from, I already slipped through the heavy metal doors at the other side of the room, out into the open.

The effect would wear off only a few seconds after I was out, and I just wanted to lean tiredly against the doorframe, catch my breath and hold my face into the faint sunlight filtering through the high clouds when I became aware of more heartbeats and more human scents. More guards, positioned right outside of the entrance. I hadn't expected people outside, but it seemed Galmar Stone-Fist knew indeed that eventually more intruders would try to disturb the peace of the dead.

Panicked I darted forwards, down the steep stairs and into the rift that led up to the surface, but I knew I was still in plain sight when the yelling behind me rose to its normal frequency and a sharp pain bolted into my calf.

They reacted fast, and now they tried to shoot me.

I stumbled and fell to my knees, rolling with a suppressed curse behind a protruding wall, all restraints vanishing when heavy, crunching steps approached from behind and this last bit of pain mingled with all the injuries and aches I had accumulated during this night. No way I'd let this mission fail, not now after I had come so far. If I didn't kill them, they would slaughter me like a piece of cattle.

I didn't even have time to unfasten the leather straps and buckles of my armour, my deforming, growing body ripping the seams apart, the familiar, cherished heat rising through my spine resolving the pain in an outburst of violence.

My last conscious thought was that I didn't want them to die. At least they wouldn't know who had killed them, only _what_ – conscience and reason were lost in blood, fury and screams, and then I bolted out of the shadows of the cleft and into the woods, my hunger not sated and the need for the hunt erupting in a how full of yearning.

A howl that was _answered_ , entirely unexpected and familiar, and I froze on the spot, sniffing the air, picking up the scent that came with the wind.

It was the scent of the pack, promise and threat at the same time, causing another kind of yearning and the fear to be caught. The beast sat motionless, torn between the urge to follow that scent and the urge to flee it, still the taste of human blood on its tongue and hunger gnawing at its innards. It tugged at the frail thread connecting the parts of its soul, and finally it ran off and fled.

The beast was afraid of itself and of the things it didn't remember, and it fled into the soothing mindlessness it had grown used to. It was used to hunt alone. The bonds of the pack had lost their grip.

When the stag broke through the under-brush, the bliss of the kill took over and only the resistance of the prey and the fight was left, only deadly fangs and claws ripping through fur, flesh warm and saturating, bones cracking under a heavy bite.

The mortally wounded animal reared up in a last desperate effort to break free, my fangs already buried in its throat, biting and swallowing when the tips of sharp antlers pierced my fur, the last violent jerk of dying muscles throwing me off and sending me flying against a rock.

Everything went black.

The pain woke me, beside the lingering ache of the change there was a dull throbbing in my ribcage, a sharp sting shot through my leg, and the sunrays pouring through the green roof of the trees hit my dazed brain like lightning. Groaning I blinked and tried to free my senses of the addling fog in my head, but trying to prop myself on my elbows I had to realise that I was trapped.

"Lie still," a voice hissed and a strong hand pressed against my shoulder, "here, bite this."

A piece of leather was shoved between my teeth, and then someone braced himself on my hipbone and my thigh while the slim blade of a dagger sliced into the muscle of my calf to cut the stuck arrowhead free. It was jerked out with a jolt of searing white pain, and while I still breathed in the air for a scream, the edge of a potion bottle was pressed against my teeth, half of the liquid running through my throat, making me cough and gag, the other half dripping down my chin.

The change still lingered in my blood, and the fury boiled up again, fuelled by pain and confusion about what had happened and what was going on right now.

My palm slapped against Vilkas' cheek and left instantly a red, distinct imprint on his face, and his breath hitched, his weight holding me down, face furious and eyes dark with unbridled anger only inches from mine. His fingers pressed in far too close to my throat. "I said lie still," he snarled, and my head yanked up and hit is jaw as my knee crushed into his groin and he gasped with pain and jerked away, but his hand never loosened its grip, clenched around my chin with his fingers digging into my cheeks as if he wanted to break my neck. I grabbed his wrist, elbowed him in the ribs with all the strength I could muster and rolled us around with brute force, clenching his waist between my knees as hard as I could even as the white-hot pain from the bleeding wound flaring through my leg made me dizzy. "Bastard," I panted between tight jaws and his back arched to throw me off, eyes tinting golden and teeth bared. His feral snarl called forth the answering howl of my own beast, I clenched my hands around his throat and he nearly broke my wrists when he ripped them off, nails leaving bleeding scratches on his skin. His free hand formed a fist and crushed with careful aim into my bruised ribs, the sudden pain forced the breath from my lungs in a scream and he used his advantage, pushed me around and rolled until he was on top again. My wrists were trapped in his grip above my head and my body held down by his weight, his eyes glaring down on me in a wrath not entirely human, there were small twigs and dry leaves and snow in his hair and he smelled of home and of belonging and was so warm and familiar and pack, and I was so cold inside… I lifted my head and silenced the growl that came deep from his throat, claimed his mouth violently, teeth and lips and tongues, a struggle of despair and sensations and pleasure none of us wanted to win, and when we had to gasp for air, his breath shivering hot and ragged against the skin of my neck and I tasted his pulse, his grip around my wrists released and my hands raked through the mess of his hair…

The world fell away, and it was so wrong.

We only breathed into each other, eyes closed, feeling without touching, I smelled his fury and arousal and longing, the pent up energy, the thrill of this kiss and the hollowness beneath it and wondered what he'd smell in me, didn't dare to move until our heartbeats slowed down and he released me of his weight, rolled off and hunched beside me. Only now I noticed that I was clothed, clad in the lose pants and shirt I had changed for the Dark Brotherhood armour shortly before I had reached Korvanjund. He had dressed me after the change.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, sitting up and turning away from him, my arms clenched around my chest. My face was hot and burning with shame, and I didn't dare to look at him.

He sat motionless and silent, only the tip of his index moved up to my face, trailing a line from my brows over cheek and jaw and down the curve of my neck until it reached the hem of the shirt, a touch so gentle and tender it was barely noticeable. "Don't," he said quietly and drew his hand away, his fingers clenching in his lap. "I know you don't want _me_."

He was just as cold inside as me, and every attempt to fill the emptiness in us both with each other only fed it, made it larger and darker, more unbearable, more frightening and more cruel.

I treated the wound in my leg with a short burst of healing magic, not enough to close it completely, but at least it stopped the heavy bleeding. It would do, and I stood up and gathered my pack and the weapons he had collected from the battlefield near Korvanjund. He still crouched in the snow when I turned back to him, elbows on his knees, his forehead buried in his palms.

"You shouldn't have followed me just because Ria doesn't know when to shut up," I said calmly. "Go home. Stop caring. Please."

It took him a long time to answer.

"I can't." His voice was rough and stern, and he became quiet again for a moment that stretched into infinity. "The night before you left… when we met in the Huntsman and I was so glad that for once, you weren't there… I've never seen him so happy. He talked about you and your child and how glad he was that we got along, and that you'd live in Jorrvaskr and Breezehome and raise a family with us all. He believed in you, and he believed that everything would be fine. He was so incredibly happy. And we were nearly sober when we parted because he knew that you'd bully him up with sunrise, and then he asked me to…" His voice trailed off, broken, he hid his face in his hands and rocked back and forth in an erratic rhythm. The silence built until it was suffocating, drowning out everything else.

When he lifted his gaze to my face, his eyes were like stormclouds, dark beneath the brightness and revealing the void in him. The crack in his soul. I could hear the thunder of his heartbeat over the distance between us. "He made me swear," he whispered. "He was so incredibly happy, but he knew what you were going into, and he made me swear to look after you if anything happened to him. To keep you safe, to care for you and for his child and to make sure that you'd come home." He clenched his teeth and stretched out a hand. "I swore… to him, and to myself. I can't lose you, Qhouri. Not you too."

Twins. Both or none. This would never be true again.

I knelt down in front of him, cupped his chin in my palm, and we found the same despair and loneliness in the other's face each of us felt himself. It wasn't a revelation, and it wasn't a surprise. We could show each other our sorrow because it was so similar, but we couldn't ease it.

"He's dead _because of me_ , Vilkas. I can't bring him back, I can't heal your loss, but you're not obliged, neither to him nor to me. If it helps you I hereby release you from your promise. Just stop it. Leave me alone."

When I started to stand up, ready to leave, his fingers closed around my wrist. His voice was shaking.

"You don't care any more?"

I had to overcome his resistance as I loosened his fingers from my arm, one by one.

"It was too dark for him," I said pensively, "he wasn't healed, and it was too dark with that storm Alduin had conjured. Farkas couldn't see in that light, not well enough for such a fight and we both knew it, but he stayed with me because he cared. Because he didn't want to leave me. And perhaps… if _I_ had cared less as well, if I hadn't tried to beat Alduin _and_ have his back, if Alduin hadn't known that he was my biggest weakness… perhaps I could have defeated him. Perhaps your brother would still live if we both hadn't cared so much, and all this were over already."

He went slack, slumped together, and I placed his hand back on his thigh like the limb of a puppet before I rose to my feet.

"It's not worth the price, Vilkas."

I left him behind, turned north towards the street that would take me to Solitude, but his whisper still reached me.

"I don't believe you. Why can't we stop lying?"

* * *

I left him behind and with him this darkness that I knew so good, that shred his soul to pieces and that he could show no one but me. I hoped it would be for the last time. The long farewell from Farkas entailed so many smaller farewells that I couldn't discern them any more, Vilkas only one of many, even if we shared so much more than others. All of them only left a feeling of detachment and disparity behind.

I took this feeling with me, my thoughts already in Dragon Bridge where I would meet with Legate Rikke. She'd either wait for me there, or I would have to send a courier to Solitude, but at least she didn't force me to see her in Castle Dour again.

She was already waiting, and the exchange of items, crown against a sealed parchment, was quick and easy.

"How did you get it?" I asked, and she gave me a proud, slightly arrogant grin.

"A lot of common sense and a bit of persuasion, Dragonborn," she said. "Imperials are different. They don't care for prophecies and divine deeds, especially when they're not their own. But they care for arguments. Well, at least Tullius does. Even he has to concede that the Dragons are a plague someone should do something against. And Balgruuf will never let us garrison our troops in Whiterun freely, and to besiege the city now over the winter would be madness. In the end it wasn't hard to convince him that every measure to keep Ulfric away from Whiterun would be in our best interest, at least at the moment."

"Well, you should hope that I don't succeed then," I said. "Because if I do, I will probably be back in a few days."

She regarded me thoughtfully. "How will we know if you were successful?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. Perhaps the dragons will tell you?"

She held out her hand, and this time I took it, grasped her wrist in a firm grip.

"Thank you, Legate."

"Good luck, Dragonborn."

I travelled to Windhelm to inform Ulfric of my agreement with the Legion and found the Jarl in a shouting match with Galmar another officer. The scraps of their conversation I caught as Jorleif led me into his warroom made clear that the reason for his ire was the very item that had bulged the pack of an Imperial Legate when I had last seen her – the loss of the crown and the mysterious, gruesome slaughter of his men by a beast in the armour of an assassin. He wasn't happy about the disturbance, took only a fleeting look at Tullius' document and barked at me to get going, and I was glad to leave as fast as possible. Only two days later I was back in Whiterun. When I passed both decrees to Balgruuf, his eyes went wide.

"You really did it," he muttered, "I should really…" A small, complacent smile spread over his face when he didn't finish the sentence, but his gaze wandered to his housecarl who followed the conversation closely. Their eyes met, and she gave a firm nod. "Dragonsreach is at your disposal," he said finally, "when do you want to start?"

"Tomorrow with sunrise. Please keep your guards ready," I said sternly.

A question flashed through his face. "Will the Companions come too?"

I had already turned and crossed the hall towards the exit. "No," I said curtly over my shoulder.

There was a single last visit I had to make, and my steps were firm when I climbed the stairs to Jorrvaskr and entered. Approaching the building, I heard the familiar noise from the back, the screech from Eorlund's grindstone, shouting and cursing, barked orders from Vilkas, Ria's laughter and the bright clanks when the training weapons collided. The main room was nearly empty when I crossed it, only Tilma with her inevitable broom sweeping the boards, and Njada sitting over a snack.

She started up when she saw me, rose and opened her mouth to speak, but sank quietly back to her chair when I ignored her. The living quarters hit me with their scent as soon as I opened the doors at the bottom of the stairs. Not because it was so familiar… but because it wasn't. Something was missing in this scent, a single characteristic touch, something that had belonged to these aisles and rooms like the threadbare carpet, the wide vaulted ceiling or the sooty streaks on the wall above the candle holders. It had belonged here since I had woken in these rooms for the first time, injured and mad with pain and fear, and now it was gone.

Perhaps I was mad again. Perhaps I had always been. It didn't matter any more.

Kodlak's door stood open like usual, and he looked up from the journal he wrote in when he heard me approach, his face twisting in surprise, but he sat straight and attentive when I closed the door behind me. When I dropped a key in front of him, he regarded it with obvious discomfort.

"I will go to Sovngarde tomorrow, Harbinger," I said sternly, passing over the greeting. "This is the key to Breezehome. Please do with it whatever you deem appropriate."

He looked at the item as if it would bite him. "You won't come back?"

"Not here, no." I extended a hand towards him, and he returned the formal gesture hesitantly. "Thank you for everything, Kodlak."

I had to get out of here.

But Kodlak didn't release me from the grip on my wrist and finally rose to stand before me. The old man had completely lost his broad warrior bulk over the last months, but despite his frailness and the gaunt features under his warpaint he could still look down on me.

 _"We will stand at her back, that the world may never overtake us."_ His voice was grave. "Remember?"

Of course I remembered. There was no mirth in my laughter. "You didn't even know what that means back then, Kodlak. What you saddled yourself with when you let me join. _Nobody_ knew." I withdrew my hand from his.

He took the key from the table and pressed it into my palm.

"That doesn't make it less valid." He closed my fingers gently around the cool metal, his palm warm around my fingers. "No, Qhouri. I will not help you in abandoning your home. I understand what you're going through…," his grip around my fist became firmer when he saw my scowl, "oh yes, I do, you're not the first and you won't be the last who has suffered such a loss. But what you intend to do now is wrong."

"You don't understand, Kodlak," I said blandly. "Farkas died because of me, and if I live, I will have to live with that, if only for the child. But you lost so much since I came here… I can't live here any more."

Kodlak observed the tightness of my jaws and the thin line of my lips with his kind, thoughtful gaze. "Sit down," he said finally, the grip on my elbow overcoming my resistance with gentle force, but his words were a command impossible not to obey. "I won't let you go like this."

He took place again, and his face showed deep sympathy, the sternness and serenity of his age. "We're all our own masters, Qhouri. This holds true especially for you, you've never been good in taking advice, but it applies to all of us. Also Skjor. Also Vilkas. And also Farkas. It was his decision to go with you, and he knew of the risks."

"He didn't decide to die!" I yelled, trying to keep the despair in check with my fury. "He wanted to live and he wanted a future, with a family and good work and his friends, and without all this death and doom! And I took that from him, and from you all to share it with him!"

"No!" he thundered, the unaccustomed might of his voice making me recoil, "Qhourian!" His eyes searched my face with frightening intensity, and then he slumped against the backrest of his chair, his palm rubbing his forehead. "That's what he wanted, yes, for you both. But most of all did he want to be with you, no matter how, when and where. You couldn't have tied him up just to keep him safe, and you know that. He cherished every moment you spent together… and he would have never given up a single of these moments for an uncertain future." He laid a warm, strong hand on my wrist. "He was exactly where he wanted to be, up there at the Throat of the World, when he fought with you against Alduin. You didn't take it. He _gave_ it. For you, for your child, for us all. For everything he loved. You should respect that."

"But it wasn't worth it." Dry sobs shook my body, but I couldn't cry. "It was so useless." I lifted my eyes to his face. "And it hurts so much. It hurts to be here."

"That's something you don't know, Qhouri," he said quietly. "Of course it hurts. It hurts for all of us. But it wasn't your doing, and... nobody knows, but perhaps _you_ would be dead now if you had been alone. If he hadn't been there. Perhaps it wasn't useless at all." He held my gaze through my speechless stare.

He felt my resistance, my urge to run through this door, to end this conversation and he knew he would have to let me go.

"Don't run away, girl. Don't burn all bridges behind you. Think about it before you erase everything you have built up here. It's not all gone, and it's not all destroyed. Think about what Farkas would want, for you and for your child and what you would want for him if he were in your place."

I knew he didn't want to press me… he believed what he said, and he challenged me, but in the end he would respect my decision. But the gaunt lines of sorrow in his face betrayed him, and they would haunt me like the bottomless grief in Vilkas' eyes haunted me. But to be haunted was still better than to have to meet them every day and to know that I had caused them. I looked at the key in my hand, twirling it between my fingers and avoiding his eyes. In the end, I offered it to him, flat on my palm.

"Keep it, Kodlak. Please. I can't…" My voice was weak. He took it from my hand and put it into the drawer under his desk.

"Take your time, Qhouri, at least promise this to me. Jorrvaskr will always be here, and we will always stand at your back. But you have to let us." He embraced me, his hug not as ribcrushing and bearlike as it once was, but still warm and comforting. "And now go and slay that annoying worm."

"You think I will defeat him?"

He chuckled lowly. "Of course you will. You've learned from the best, haven't you?"

Not _It's your destiny_ or _The prophecy says so_ or _You have to save us_. Just this. You've learned. You're prepared. You can do it.

Gods, how I loved this man.


	17. Odahviing

It was deep in the night, and yet Whiterun was beautiful and alive. I heard the firm steps of the guards, someone running down the steps from Dragonsreach and a drunkard staggering away from the inn. I heard children cry and a mother singing a lullaby, snoring and yelling and laughing, the guttural moans of arousal, drunken arguments and hushed chatter. I spied on them, all these people that lived behind the thick walls and firmly closed doors I passed during my aimless stroll through the city. In one way or another, all of them had belonged to my life since I had come here. I had been a part of this community only for a bit more than a year, but it felt like a lifetime. And now I wandered through the streets and alleys I knew so good, my feet carrying me without plan or purpose from the gates to the market, from the Mare to the Gildergreen, from the Temple to the Halls of the Dead.

I said farewell to these places, I realised as I found myself in front of Jorrvaskr, my fingertips brushing over the worn carvings and the heavy rivets holding the iron bands, furbished by countless hands that had pushed these doors open. Now it seemed quiet, empty and lifeless, not even my sense of hearing reaching down into the living quarters where the Companions slept, where I had spent so many nights myself. As if the building itself shut me out, and I turned away and climbed the stairs to the Skyforge instead.

I had always loved this sight, the lights of the city beneath me, Dragonsreach rising behind the eagle and the endless waves of the plains in my back, and I never loved it more than in this moment, as the view changed before my inner eye.

The image was layered with the foreboding of what was to come. The hushed chatter and laughter became screams of pain and death, the flickering, homey lights turned into an inferno, flames roaring in a storm of devastation. The stars above me would fade out and vanish once and for all, replaced by darkness that would never again be lit up by another morning. A bottomless maelstrom, deep enough to swallow the world.

And on top of the smouldering ruin that had been the Jarl's palace would loom that shadow, blacker than the darkness, its cause and its origin.

I saw it, the images coming alive and concrete with everything I knew, from Helgen, from Kynesgrove and from the Throat of the World.

I knew how it would be, the end of the world. Knew what would happen and how it would feel like, when the world was annihilated by hate and destruction. The insatiable maelstrom filled not only the sky, but it filled my mind and my soul. I knew how it felt, an aching hole in my chest, dark, cruel and empty. Bottomless darkness where once had been... something else. Life, and love, and laughter.

Only Alduin was left to fill this hole now, his darkness and his hatred. He was the reason for my existence and for every step I had taken. He had led me here and lured me in, my nemesis, the arch-enemy, had taken everything that was precious. The depth of my pain, the urge to destroy - they all were fuelled by this hate that yearned fulfilment, an abyss as deep, dark and devouring as the sky over Whiterun. I was his match. It gave me strength, this hatred, gave me direction and purpose.  It gave me a goal.

I didn't listen any more to the sounds of life when I returned to Breezehome, didn't look at the stars and didn't return the guards' greetings. And I slept deep and dreamless until Adrianne started her workshift and woke me, and when I pushed the doors of the palace open, I was calm and determined to catch me a dragon.

But my concentration was broken in an instant as soon as I entered, the sight making me want to turn and run. Why in Oblivion couldn't they leave me alone?

Not only the Jarl and Irileth were already waiting, no, Farengar, Avenicci and Hrongar stood beside the throne as well. And to the side, like an audience, waited Kodlak, Aela and Vilkas.

When I reached the gathering, my face had twisted into a deep, frustrated frown, in stark contrast to the broad, complacent smile the Jarl wore and the irritation on the faces on the Companions.

"He has asked us to come here," Kodlak whispered when I had reached the group. "You know what he wants?"

Now I looked as confused as he and shook my head. But I wasn't here for secret-mongerings and idle chatter, whatever the Jarl had planned. There was a dragon waiting for me, and I wanted to start.

"What's going on here, Jarl Balgruuf?" I asked sharply, perhaps sharper than intended. But Balgruuf didn't let himself get worked up. He stood up and looked radiantly into the round, obviously bathing in the feeling that he knew something we didn't. My eyes narrowed in frustration, the last I needed now was a surprise, but finally he started to speak.

"Friends… Companions… Qhourian! I apologise for the rashness of the invitation, but I have come to a decision I want to announce before… whatever is going to happen today will take its course." He nodded to the Circle-members. "I'm glad you as Qhourian's closest companions were able attend this little ceremony." The low growl from Vilkas' throat evidently escaped him when he presented me a beaming smile and breathed in deeply, as if he was going to say something very grave and substantial. I felt every eye in the hall on me, the attention making me cringe inwardly. Holy Kyne, please let this be over. Soon. Now.

"Qhourian, over the last months you have done great services for Whiterun and Skyrim. You have accomplished tasks nobody ever thought possible, and lately you have also proven that you're as gifted to deal with delicate diplomatic tasks as you're skilled as dragon-slayer."

I knew Jarl Balgruuf as a rational, sometimes harsh but overall reasonable man. But this proclamation and the solemn tone in which he presented it was simply ridiculous, and I looked at him full of confusion.

"And therefore, by my right as Jarl and as a token of my esteem, I name you Thane of Whiterun, the greatest honour within my power to grant. I assign you Lydia as a personal Housecarl and this weapon from my personal armoury to serve as your badge of office."

Irileth handed the Jarl an intricate one-handed axe which he presented to me with outstretched arms, but I was stunned. Speechless. Unable to react.

As if there wasn't enough madness going on. Thane? Housecarl? Badge of office?

But his expectant expression made clear that this was an offer I couldn't deny. It wasn't an  _offer_ at all.

I felt the looks of everybody around on me and the heat of the blood shooting into my cheeks. Something was expected from me now, some kind of reaction, but I had no idea what to do. In the end, I took the offered weapon hesitantly, if only to keep my hands and my eyes busy while I inspected it. It was a steel blade with silver inlays and an enchantment I couldn't identify right away, it was beautiful and precious, but… gods, an axe? The only weapon I had no idea how to use. And with silver? I swallowed heavily, not sure how to hide my bewilderment.

Everything became even worse when a young, brunette woman in heavy steel armour emerged from the back of the hall, took the place beside Farengar and observed me from taxing brown eyes. I knew her by sight as one of the Jarl's personal guards… this had to be Lydia, my new housecarl.

This was crazy.

Slowly I turned my attention to the Jarl who had taken seat on his throne again, open curiosity on his face, trying to keep my expression as vacant as possible.

"It's an honour, my Jarl," I said sternly, "and not at all what I anticipated for today."

He showed me a small smirk. "You don't seem to be… thrilled, exactly," he remarked.

I blushed even harder, but managed to answer without stammering. "Just… surprised. This came unexpected."

"Maybe, yes. But you earned it," he said flatly. I couldn't disagree more. Balgruuf was a rational man and a good leader, and he didn't vest someone with such a title without ulterior motives. I couldn't imagine that he indeed wanted me as an advisor in his court, not when he had people like Farengar, Irileth or even Kodlak at his disposal. It was a titular title, bestowed only to make me feel obliged to him and his city. A political asset, and I had been given no choice but to accept it.

The Jarl tried to use me when he made me Thane, his motivation wasn't hard to decipher, and beneath the bewilderment grew the anger about  _ another _ decision that was taken out of my hands. But not like this. I didn't have a choice, obviously I never had a choice and nobody ever was cared for  _ my _ wishes, but I didn't want others involved in this weird game of power and influence I didn't have any interest in.

"I accept, Jarl Balgruuf, although I don't know yet if I will stay in Whiterun," I said sternly, "but only under one condition."

He arched an astonished eyebrow. "A condition? And what would that be?"

"No housecarl." My eyes turned to the woman that stood so eagerly beside the throne. I had visited enough courts and knew enough Jarls and Thanes to know that housecarls were usually not much more than better servants who were furthermore sworn to protect their master with their lives. They devoted themselves to someone else, and the thought to have someone I didn't even know in such a relationship to me let me shudder with discomfort.

"I'm sorry, Lydia," I said to the young woman whose face had fallen into disappointment. "It's nothing personal… but I don't need a housecarl, I don't need a protector and I don't want the company of a stranger." My blunt words hurt her, and I could understand her reaction… she was young, very young, and to be assigned to a new Thane must have been an exciting prospect.

But if I wanted the company of an eager, naïve young girl, I'd rather take Ria. As soon as the thought formed in my head, I dismissed it impatiently, virtually slapping myself. The habit to trace everything back to the Companions as the centre of my life finally had to stop.

"I understand," the Jarl said and directed his gaze to the Circle. "As a member of the Companions and with your history, you really don't need a protector. It's entirely against the traditions, though… Lydia is already ready to move to Breezehome and prepare everything for your triumphant return."

Oh gods, no! Of course she wanted to move to Breezehome, that's what the word  _housecarl_ stood for. To stand on my toes for the rest of my life. Something like panic bubbled in my stomach, and I shook my head frantically.

"I don't even know if there will be a return at all…" I said weakly, and finally someone else intervened. Aela. I could have kissed her.

"Qhourian will stay in Jorrvaskr anyway when she comes back," she said calmly and without blushing. "She won't live alone when her due date comes closer. I don't suppose your Lydia here is trained as a midwife, and she can't stay in the hall anyway." She lied for me… or at least made assumptions that were by no means warranted. Vilkas' face twisted in surprise, and Kodlak let out a low chuckle.

The Jarl regarded us thoughtfully. "Well… of course. Okay. But if you're ever in need of a housecarl, I request that you come to me immediately."

_Not in this lifetime._ I didn't say it out loud. "I will, my Jarl. Just don't put her on hold until then. And now… are your guards ready? Can we go and trap this dragon?"

My impatience was probably discourteous, but I hoped he would understand. He had to be aware that he had caught me entirely off-guard with this whole Thane thing, and I had neither the nerves nor the time to deal with the consequences right now.

"Of course. My men stand ready, as promised," he smiled and beckoned Irileth to take the lead. The whole group left the room towards the upper levels and I rushed after them, but before I could vanish through the doorway, a firm grip on my elbow held me back.

"Good hunting, sister," Aela said quietly, and in her eyes stood sadness, acceptance… and a small, encouraging smile. Perhaps she was the only one really able to understand what was going on with me, and she let out a relieved sigh when I pulled her into a hug. Over her shoulder I saw the other two Companions still stand nearby and watch us, Kodlak with a warm smile, Vilkas deadpan as always.

A sudden grin spread over my face when I remembered a certain incident in Skyhaven temple. "What do you think, Vilkas… will he have balls I can feed him?"

Astonishment that I addressed him flashed over his face, but then he couldn't suppress a smirk.

"No, he won't," he answered. "Imagine he would breed!"

Aela stood before me, obviously puzzled by this short exchange, one hand on her hip, her head tilted to the side.

"I… have to go." I turned away from them, but suddenly she pushed past me with fast steps and rushed up the stairs before I could hold her back, shooting me a challenging look over her shoulder.

"Exactly. Let's trap you a dragon."

"Aela, no!" I couldn't believe they defied my wishes so blatantly. After a moment of disbelief I ran after her, but she wasn't to be deterred, and Vilkas' heavy steps following closely behind were finally the last straw to let anger and distress boil over. I stopped my chase right after a bend in a narrow stairway, waiting for Vilkas to run into me.

He did, heavily, crashing us both to the ground.

_ "FUS!" _ I shouted and he flew down the steps he had just ran up, lying motionless on his back as I stood above him, arms folded across my chest, glaring down on him. "You, Icebrain, have no business here," I said calmly. "You will go home now and take your shield-sister with you."

Aela stood frozen at the top of the stairs. "Qhouri…," she said placatingly.

But I had enough, once and for all. "No," I yelled at them, "get out of my eyes! I don't want you to be here, don't you get it? I didn't want you to follow me to Korvanjund but you did it anyway," I pointed accusingly at Vilkas, "I didn't want to be named Thane and meet you here but I had to, and most of all didn't I want you to make a bloody promise! Your stupid oath and stupid honour my ass, for once you will respect  _ my _ wishes and leave me alone!"

The silence after my outbreak stretched into infinity, until Aela descended the stairs and offered Vilkas a hand to help him up. His face was petrified, only a single muscle in his jaw twitching uncontrolled. Aela turned to me once more, but I yanked away when she tried to lay a hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry, Qhouri," she said, and the sadness was back in her eyes, "but I don't think this is about honour."

A heavy sigh of relief escaped my lips when their steps finally faded in the distance and the entrance to Dragonsreach clapped shut behind them.

The Jarl waited with Irileth, Farengar and a dozen guards at the edge of the porch, and their expectant, eager yet slightly scared glances finally gave me back the calmness I needed.

"Okay," I said, walking forward to the edge of the yard, "I will call the dragon from here. But this won't be an ordinary dragon fight… don't forget, we don't want to kill him. We don't even want to hurt him. He has to be lured to the back where some of you will stand ready to spring the trap."

I looked into the round. "I need two of you at the lever, you release it on the Jarl's command who will stay in the back of the hall and stay on top of things." I didn't want Balgruuf in the middle of the fight, he wasn't even armoured properly with his hauberk that looked more representative than protective. "Only Irileth and I will attack him directly, keep his attention and draw him down here." I looked expectantly at the Jarl's housecarl, but it seemed she didn't mind that I had taken over the command over her troops and nodded in agreement. "The archers among you line up on the upper level, between the pillars, you'll be as far as possible out of the way of his blast there. I don't know if he will spit fire or ice, but both is unpleasant. You only start to attack if we lose his attention and things run south, and you fire only on my command. I don't wanna see a stray arrow in his eye or something similar."

One of the soldiers with a bow on his back raised a hand. "But don't you need us to make him land? That's what we did at the watchtower, at least."

"Very considerate, but no. I can force him to land. When you see… something like blue flames around him, he will come down a few moments later. Promised." To see all these attentive, anxious faces around me made me grin. They were good guys, these men and women.

"That's the plan. But the dragon I'm gonna call is the chief lieutenant of Alduin, and we simply don't know what will happen. If everything goes well, most of you can just stand around and enjoy the show. If it doesn't – well, then good luck to us all. He will be dangerous, especially in such a tight space, but in the end all that counts is to get him under that thing." I pointed at the wooden arch tucked under the ceiling. "Even if that means that we have to push him in ass first." The laughter I got was nervous and weak, but it released a bit of the tension.

When all the soldiers had taken their positions, I turned to the Jarl. "Can we begin?"

He eyed me confidently. "Looks like you have everything under control, Dragonborn. I'm putting my city into your hands, do your best."

_"OD AH VIING!"_

The beast was enormous. Although I had hoped it would be just an ordinary dragon I should have expected it, and the gigantic red creature that came flying around Dragonsreach with heavy, nearly leisurely slow flaps of his wings some anxious minutes after I had called him was beyond every expectation. He flew by close to the porch, as if he wanted to present himself in all his glory, turned in an elegant curve and attacked. Irileth and I were barely able to dart out of his fire blast, and we didn't have time to admire his mighty presence for more than a few seconds.

His next approach was even slower, and then he hovered in front of us, the slow motions of his wings causing a storm that nearly swept us off the platform. I wouldn't let him hold his comfortable position for long.

_ "JOOR ZAH FRUL!" _

And there he was, landing with a crash and nearly filling the space between the walls of the porch even when he had folded his wings to his back, a roaring, writhing mass of muscles and wrath. Never before had I seen a dragon like him. It wasn't just his sheer size, he wasn't even quite as large as Alduin or Paarthurnax. No, it was his colour, the scales shimmering in every imaginable shade of red, from a light orange to the darkest burgundy, the leather of his wings iridescent into rich purple tones. And it were his eyes, huge, green pupils around the familiar black slits that didn't show only the ignorant blandness I was used to, but eyes full of conscience, full of intelligence, pride, fury, surprise… and curiosity.

It was nearly too easy. Of course he fought and struggled, tried to bathe us in his fire, and once my heart nearly stopped when his fangs snapped shut only inches in front of Irileth. But he was entirely focused on us, and with every step we made backwards he followed us a step forwards, deeper into the hallway. I couldn't imagine that he didn't realise the weirdness of this fight, not with the archers waiting idly at the edge of the hallway above us, our attacks relentless but remarkable inefficient, with Irileth backing off far too fast after each ineffective, shallow thrust of her sword and Dragonbane's slim blade slashing out against his neck instead to pierce between the scales.

He had to wonder, but perhaps he underestimated us, perhaps he thought he could play with us while he herded us slowly along the hallway. Perhaps he had as much fun as we.

Until Balgruuf's sonorous command sounded through the air, drowning out even the noise of the fight and the rush of adrenaline fuelled blood pounding in my ears.

"Now!"

"Get away from him!" My yell got lost in the earth-shattering noise from the springing trap and followed by a moment of absolute silence when everybody – including Odahviing – tried to get a hold of the situation. A nearly equally earth-shattering roar erupted from the dragon's throat when he realised what had happened, and he released a final, powerful fireblast, filling the back of the hall with flames, smoke and heat.

"I think it's holding." The astonished, incredulous whisper of one of the guards broke the silence, and suddenly everything was turmoil and laughter, backslapping and relief. Yes, the ancient trap was indeed holding, even against Odahviing's struggling and furious shouts. He made the wood creak and strain against the steel bindings and bolts, but it stood the test and held.

When the dragon realised that he couldn't break free, he relaxed… slightly, at least, his long neck stretching and winding to get an overview of what was happening around him. And when he started to speak, it was more or less just an annoyed rumble. "Horvutah med kodaav. Caught like a bear in a trap…"

His head swang from side to side, but everybody had now taken position somewhere where neither his fangs nor his tail could reach them, all of the people who had helped standing in a wide circle around the dragon. Finally his eyes fixed on me.

"Dovahkiin," he said, his rough, sonorous voice filling the hall with a vibrating power, "zu'u bonaar. You went to a great deal of trouble to put me in this… humiliating position."

"It's not my intention to humiliate you, Odahviing," I said sternly, "and I suppose you know already why we were forced to… take such unusual measures."

"I assume… you want me to betray my master." He bared his fangs in an expression either threatening or amused. "Hind siiv Alduin, hmm? No doubt you want to know where to find Alduin?"

"I know where he is. The coward fled when I bested him at the Throat of the World, and now he hides his sorry hide in Sovngarde." I tilted my head, didn't even try to avoid the scrutinising, arrogant look of the ancient dragon. "Only a coward calls a coward his master."

My insolent remark was answered with a quiet murmur from the people around me and an angry hiss from the dragon.

"You dare to call me a coward?"

"I am Dovahkiin, dragon. Prove to me that you're not."

I talked large, but subservience and devoutness would earn me neither his respect nor his cooperation. And I had to earn his respect, to have him trapped wouldn't be enough. This wasn't a wild animal I could try to tame, and despite his position he still had the advantage – I needed him desperately, but he could just wait until his master came back or I died of old age, and I had to assume he knew this very well.

He stretched his neck as far as possible, his fangs coming closer and closer until everything I saw was this long scarlet snout and these green eyes, gleaming with suppressed temperament. He could have roasted me with a single breath, but I didn't move.

"Rinik vazah. An apt phrase. Alduin bovul. He fled, and some of my brethren have begun to question his lordship and the strength of his Thu'um. Among themselves, of course. Mu ni meyye. We're no fools, and nobody was yet ready to defy him openly." I saw his tongue curl behind the fence of his teeth, his breath swirling hot and sulphurous around me. "But I am not one of them."

"Perhaps you should, Odahviing."

"Well…," his head swang from side to side, "one reason I came to your call was to test your Thu'um for myself. My eagerness to meet you in battle was my undoing, Dovahkiin. I admit, you are strong. Hin Thu'um mul."

He either wanted to sidetrack our conversation or liked to hear himself talk far too much. Slowly I became impatient.

"Tell me how to get to Sovngarde. Give your master opportunity to prove his Thu'um against mine once more."

"Unslaad krosis. Innumerable pardons. I digress," Odahviing chuckled as if he had all the time of the world and enjoyed our discussion tremendously. He probably did, and the red-scaled bastard was nothing less than sorry. "He guards the privilege to feed on the sillesejoor… the souls of the mortal dead jealously. His entrance to Sovngarde is at Skuldafn, one of his ancient fanes high in the eastern mountains. Of course it is guarded... properly."

Skuldafn, in the eastern mountains. Finally I had a name. I took a step away from the dragon and searched for a certain face. "Farengar? I need a map!" Where was the bloody mage? He wouldn't have left now, would he?

A shriek, a pained yell, a furious roar and a blast of fire against the castle wall were my answer. While everyone's attention was directed towards Odahviing and our conversation, the Jarl's courtmage had fallen victim to his curiosity and grabbed the chance to inspect a living dragon at close quarters. At  _ very _ close quarters. And he couldn't even withstand the temptation to rip a flaming red scale out of the dragon's hide.

Odahviing's reaction was understandable, I had to give him that, but the utter chaos that broke lose when the hallway was filled with fire and smoke  _ again _ and Farengar lay unconscious at the foot of a pillar after a whiplash of the spiked tail had crashed him against the wall wasn't helpful at all. And even less helpful was that one of the guards thought he had to prove his foolish bravery by drawing his sword and attacking the dragon's neck with a roar.

_ "ZUN HAAL!" _

To see the man's face contort into confusion and fury when the greatsword slipped from his fingers as if it was covered in soap would have been hilarious if I had had the nerves to laugh. I caught the weapon hilt first and propped it in front of me like a walking stick, glaring at him with at least as much anger as Odahviing. My shout had the instant side-effect of everybody becoming suddenly quiet.

"Out," I said with a low growl that never failed to have the desired effect, "everyone but the Jarl and Irileth leaves now. Someone take that fool to the temple!" I pointed at the crumpled figure of the mage.

I waited until the door fell shut behind the last man before I turned back to the dragon. A smug grin curled his lips, and he literally beamed with arrogance. Watching him I got the distinct feeling that he knew something I didn't.

"Zu'u lost ofan hin laan… now that I have answered your question, will you allow me to go free?"

I pondered over his question, made him wait until he jerked back his head in an impatient gesture. "Who is your master, Odahviing?"

He watched me thoughtfully. "Alduin… until he's defeated."

"Then give me a single reason why I should believe that you don't cheat me."

A chortle broke out of his throat. "You think like a dov, Dovahkiin. And…" he harrumphed into my face, "… there may be a detail about Skuldafn I neglected to mention."

I knew it. Crossing my arms over my chest, I gave him a challenging look. "Why am I not surprised? Tell me what you know."

He savoured far too much what was to come. "You, Dovahkiin, may have the soul and the voice of a dovah. But without the wings, you will never set a foot in Skuldafn," he drawled, his massive head tilting in snotty amusement.

He watched my reaction to this revelation curiously, and I didn't disappoint. Utter shock was written into my face. "You… treacherous bastard," I muttered.

"Of course… I could take you there. But not while imprisoned like this."

The words dropped like honey from his fangs, persuasive, convincing and tempting, but it would take more than that to make me trust the good will and helpfulness of Alduin's lieutenant. I believed him that he didn't lie, that Skuldafn was unreachable for me, even without looking at a map. But no way I'd let him go free, and I paced frantically through the courtyard, my mind racing in the hectic search for an alternative solution, for an outlet of this dilemma.

Perhaps Paarthurnax would take me there? But no, the old dragon hadn't left the Throat of the World for eras. And to force him to face the most loyal defenders of his brother… impossible. Perhaps I could wait until Alduin came back from Sovngarde. Yeah, sated with mortal souls and at the height of his power, ready to devour the world. It would be madness to wait so long.

I gritted my teeth. "We're at an impasse," I had to admit.

"Indeed. Orin brit ra. You won't let me go until you defeat Alduin, which you cannot do without my help," he said playfully, his lively eyes sparkling with glee.

I turned to the Jarl. "Please post a couple of guards here. I need... some time to come to a decision." Odahviing's annoyed grunt was audible even through the closed doors.

Of course I didn't need time, and I took the shortest way back to Breezehome. This was just another of those issues where the decision was already taken out of my hands. I was dragged along by a destiny that marched with gigantic steps towards its fulfilment. If Odahviing said the only way to reach his master was to fly with him to a secluded, heavily fortified fortress, I had no choice but to believe him and to do what he told me.

At least, travelling on a dragon's back would mean that I wouldn't have to waste days or weeks with an arduous journey through the wilderness. And still, while I assessed every single piece of my gear, I never got rid of the nagging suspicion that I'd never be prepared for what lay ahead.

In the end, I left most of my usual equipment behind. It seemed ridiculous to take rations, spare clothes, flint and tinder or a bedroll to Sovngarde. I wouldn't need it. A few potions, salves and bandages, and apart from that, everything I took only served a single purpose: to kill Alduin. Bundles with every high quality arrow I could get in Whiterun, daggers sheathed and hidden in my boot, at the small of my back and at my upper arm, the Dwemer shortsword I had used in Korvanjund strapped to my hip, a broad leather belt with throwing darts slung across my chest, pouches with poisons at my belt. My armour was in excellent condition, and Dragonbane's slim blade shone with sharpness.

Many eyes followed me as I passed the market place towards the higher quarters. Fralia and Carlotta, Anoriath and Sigurd, Braith and Mila, Saadia and Brenuin – they all knew of the dragon trapped on top of the city and why he was here. I felt I should acknowledge them, perhaps satisfy their curiosity and say farewell, that they expected something of me, but I didn't have the strength. Instead I lowered my head, rushed up the stairs and into the temple.

This time, I didn't feel the goddess' presence as I knelt down in front of the shrine. Not even Kyne could light up Alduin's darkness. But as I let the broken light from the colourful windows wash over me and the silence numbed my senses, I found the calm that I needed so urgently. I didn't pray for success, or absolution, for forgiveness or victory. I prayed for the strength to go on and to do my best. And although the wish was vague and undefined, I prayed that I would arrive _somewhere_ , that this way would finally lead me to a place where I'd finally be able to stay.

Vilkas never knew when it was enough or when it was too much, he had never cared for my sensitivities, and not even shouting at him helped. He was waiting for me when I left the temple, sitting at the foot of the stairs to Jorrvaskr, catching my gaze as soon as I opened the door and blinked into the bright light of the late afternoon.

He was stubborn. He was like me, and to him, I could say goodbye. I had done it before, and this time would be the last.

His annoyed grunt when I settled beside him, snatched the bottle from his grip and took a long swig of his ale coaxed an easy grin on my face. His breath smelled of alcohol.

"I need it more than you, brother," I said, holding the bottle out of his reach. "It's medicine."

His head jerked around. "Are you ill?"

"No. Just pregnant and scared. It's medicine against fear." I grinned at him.

"What are you afraid of?"

I shrugged. Perhaps the question should be what scared me most. "Odahviing will take me to the entrance to Sovngarde."

"He will... you will ride him? Fly with him?"

"Yeah. Guess I have to. Terrifying, hm?"

He sat with his knees drawn to his chest and stared at me as if I had lost my mind. A giggle broke from my throat. "Dragonsoul my ass, brother. I'm scared of heights!"

He shook his head. "Qhouri, I'm…"

"No, Vilkas." I prodded my elbow into his ribs. He was stiff like a wooden puppet. "Don't do that. I can't bear any more demands."

"But I wanted to apologise! Although  _ you _ shouted at  _ me _ !"

"Yeah, that's exactly the problem. You have a way to make demands even when you say sorry. Let's just say I owe you a punch, okay?"

For a moment he looked as if he wanted to snap at me, but then he cocked his head in feigned coyness and bared his teeth in a grin that didn't reach his eyes. "I'm really an ass."

"Aye. And I'm a touchy bitch," I snickered.

"You're a pregnant werewolf. What do you expect?" His shoulder nudged into mine, but then he restored the distance between us. "Don't think I don't respect you," he muttered. "I do. I truly do. It's just…"

"I know. You just mean well."

Now he looked into my face, searched my eyes. "What are your wishes, Qhouri?"

"Other than to drink myself to Oblivion, something else I'm not gonna get?" I had no wishes. Everything I had ever wished for was only a memory, swallowed by the darkness coiling in my chest and Alduin's terror. I laughed, but it sounded hollow. "I want to kill him."

"You will." He was quiet for a moment. "And then? What do you want afterwards?"

"There is no afterwards, Vilkas."

"But you'll come back."

"You believe that? You really believe that I'll come back from the afterlife?"

He swallowed, but he braved my scrutiny.

"Yes." He didn't lie. He truly believed it.

I shrugged. "Dunno. Guess I'll have to start over. Build up something." I would have to. In a few months, I would be a mother. It didn't matter.

"You can build on us. On me." His voice was flat, but I felt the faint shiver in him, and he avoided my eyes. It was more than a suggestion, more than what Athis and Kodlak had said… it was an offer and a promise, not from the Companions, but from him personally. He was as severed as I, broken, lonely and lost, and still he tried to make a promise, offered his strength and his belief in a future that deserved to be called such, still hadn't given up hope that we would find peace some day.

But he didn't understand how I had come to the point where I was now, that everything that had happened since Helgen was connected by fate, strung together with the single purpose to pull me towards this point of no return. This explanation, as dreadful as it was, was the only one that gave everything at least a bit of a meaning.

He deserved better than to be just a cogwheel in the fulfilling of a destiny. We all deserved better. My fingers played absent-mindedly with a strap of my armour.

"Perhaps I can, perhaps I can't. Dunno. Perhaps I'll always be just a puppet hanging on the strings of the gods."

I watched him calmly, watched how distress and pity flitted over his face, followed by sudden, resigned comprehension. "I didn't believe you… but you really don't care any more."

I nodded slowly, holding his gaze against the sadness that built in his eyes. "I can't afford to care, brother. I can't afford to mourn, or to love, or to hope. I have a duty to fulfil, and everything's in abeyance. I can just wait for the gods to throw their dice. Perhaps I'm lucky and Hircine's are loaded." His aghast expression and the thick cords of his neck betrayed his feelings. Perhaps he understood. I raised my hand and tucked an unruly strand out of his face. He needed a shave, and he clenched his teeth under the touch. "Let me go, Vilkas. Please. I want to part in peace."

He let his forehead drop onto his knees, but his hands that had been clamped around his shins relaxed and reached out, and I took them, our fingers entangling. That at least I could give him… something to hold on to, a last moment of closeness.

But when I finally tried to break away he clenched my hand nearly desperately, rose and pulled me to my feet. When he picked a blossom from the Gildergreen and tucked it behind the collar of my armour, the scent rising sweet and fresh into my nose, I held my breath. His palms were warm on my face, as were his lips on top of my head.

"May the gods watch over your battles, sister," he murmured into my hair before he rushed up the stairs and vanished through the heavy doors of Jorrvaskr without another look back.

The long shadows of dusk already encroached over the endless plains below me when I entered the porch again. Odahviing sat motionless, giving the distinctive impression that he was bored out of his wits, but his gaze followed me when I went around him and to the edge of the yard where we had fought not many hours ago. If I flew away with him to the east, we'd leave the sun ultimately behind… and next morning, perhaps I'd already be in Sovngarde. Perhaps I would never see the sun again.

"You're ready to take me to Skuldafn, Odahviing?" I asked resolutely when I finally tore my gaze away from the sight and faced the captured dragon.

"So, you have reconsidered my offer, hmm? Onikaan kron? It was about time."

I was tired to argue with the arrogant bastard. "Yes. I'll set you free if you promise to take me to Alduin."

He eyed me curiously, and his rough, sonorous voice revealed a strange respect. "Onikaan koraav gein miraad. It is wise to recognise when you only have one choice. Free me, and I will carry you to Skuldafn."

They called me crazy, a madwoman and a fool when I asked Irileth to gather the men needed to open the trap. They were right, probably. I didn't care.

As soon as he was free, Odahviing turned and carried his heavy body out of the hallway and to the large platform, his head twisting back to give me an impatient look.

"Faas nu, zini dein ruthi ahst vaal.  Saraan uth - I await your command, as promised. Are you ready to see the world as only a dovah can?"

Without an answer I approached him with straightened shoulders, ignored the stares of the guards and started to climb him like I always did it when I wanted to kill one of his brethren, used his hind-leg as a ladder and crawled along the spine to a notch behind his head that looked as if it formed a saddle, with convenient horns that protruded from his skull in front of me to hold on to. He held perfectly still until I had settled as comfortable and secure as a mortal can settle on the back of a dragon. Jarl Balgruuf, Irileth and the guards stood in the the back with awe on their faces, frantic whispers reaching my ears.

"Zok brit uth! I warn you, once you've flown the skies of Keizaal, your envy of the dov will only increase. Amativ! Mu bo kotin stinselok."

I doubted it. He hadn't even taken off, sitting at the edge of the porch with his head swinging over the abyss below it, and I felt already the queasy lump of vertigo form in my stomach. But he gave me no further warning, his muscles tensed, one powerful leap, and then we were off and Dragonsreach, Whiterun and the landscape around it suddenly shrank below us. I squeezed my eyes shut with a terrified shriek that was answered by a low rumbling growl I felt more than I heard it. It vibrated with the pleasure to be in his very own element again.

For long moments I felt nothing but the icy wind in my face, piercing the skin with tiny needles and rushing through my ears, and the mighty muscles rippling and working between my thighs. The body below me moved in rhythm with the slow, powerful pushes of his wings, gliding through the air in elegant, rolling waves.

As long as I didn't open my eyes, I could concentrate on holding on for my dear life and on adjusting to the dragon's motions, could feel the chill of the wind and the warmth from his body and how he changed direction with subtle tilts of neck and tail. As long as I didn't open my eyes, it was bearable.

But Odahviing startled me to death when he suddenly started to chuckle, the sound rumbling through the muscles I sat on.

"Are you  _ scared _ , Dovahkiin?" His mocking tone made me cringe.

"I just prefer firm earth beneath my feet. To fall to my death now that I'm on my way to Sovngarde anyway would be quite a waste, wouldn't it?" I answered, the sarcasm mostly lost in the effort to yell against the wind. But he jerked his neck, in a different way than before, and I let go of the horns in front of me, fell forwards and clenched my arms around his throat instead.

He didn't like it, shook his head and nearly threw me off. Only my panicked scream let him stop.

"Dovahkiin," he growled lowly, "sit up. You strangle me." As if I could strangle a dragon, my arms didn't even reach around his neck. But he resumed his even gliding, and finally I found the courage to sit upright again, exposed to the elements and the dragon's unpredictable tempers.

"No stunts, please," I gasped.

"You should open your eyes. We just pass the Monahven… the Throat of the World. If you want you can wave down to Paarthurnax." Odahviing's voice sounded patient, as if he was trying to talk a child into eating its porridge, but still with an amused undertone.

It didn't help at all. "We're higher than the mountain?" I shrieked.

There it was again, that vibrating chuckle. "Of course we are. Crashing against a mountainside is at least as unpleasant as falling to death. Not that I have experience with either."

I couldn't stand the smug satisfaction in his voice any more. And I wanted to be able to react when he started another stunt… I knew of what insane manoeuvres dragons were capable of. And…

Holy Kyne.

I had opened my eyes and stopped to breathe.

A patchwork of colours spread below me, the relief of the landscape sharply accentuated by the long evening shadows and overhued with the last golden light of the sun. The earth below I was so fond of looked completely different than everything I had ever imagined. Everything I knew, everything I could identify was so incredibly small, and at the same time only this perspective revealed the vastness of the land. Its greatness. We were too high to make out people or animals, but I could still distinguish so much, the gleaming plains of freshly fallen snow in the north, behind them the relief of the mountains, black and grey and white, to the south the colours of the Rift, still retaining their warm autumnal shades, and in the distance the gleaming surface of Lake Honrich. The landscape was dotted with the distinctive square fields around little farms, the smoke from camps and mines and the glittering jewels of small lakes, and it was streaked by the thin lines of rivers and the roads I had travelled. They revealed how incredibly far I could see, that we spanned distances now in a matter of a few hours that I was used to travel in days and weeks.

As fiercely as I had kept my eyes shut before, now I was unable even to blink, and I found myself laughing, spontaneous and overwhelmed by the sheer, unbridled joy to have experienced this. It was like a gift the dragon had made me.

"Told you so," Odahviing rumbled.

"Odahviing…," I asked hesitantly, "it's beautiful, isn't it?"

"We've lived here longer than you," he answered. "Yes, it is beautiful. But I see a different beauty than you."

"What do you mean?"

He chuckled lowly. "You are only a blink of time, little mortal, and you only see the beauty of the moment. What you see now will look completely different in a few months, or in a thousand years, but the change of seasons and eras doesn't matter to you now. But I see the powers that truly rule this land, the floods forming the rivers, the glaciers ablating the mountains and the volcanoes making them anew, the frost and rain and wind turning eternal rock to dust, the waters of the sea that form the shape of the land. I see the beauty of these powers, the beauty of change that gives birth to something new."

It wasn't the answer I had anticipated… but one shouldn't be surprised to get unexpected answers when asking an immortal being such questions.

"We mortals tend to think it's us who rule this land," I said pensively. "We even kill each other for this privilege."

"Well, you don't. You only rule each other, which is, honestly, not that much of an accomplishment. The land is only ruled by the tide of time… until Alduin comes and takes his reign, and his power will overcome everything else."

I didn't know how, but this short conversation provided me with a deeper insight into the nature of the dragons and into the reasons for the eternal enmity between them and us than everything Paarthurnax had ever taught me. Paarthurnax had abandoned the way of his brethren and discarded his own power for the Way of the Voice, for a life of peace and contemplation. Odahviing however was still an ally of Alduin, although hesitating and doubtful, but he was his right hand and still a typical representative of his kind. He strived for and admired power like all of them… and I could only ask him these questions because he acknowledged mine, the power of my Thu'um over his master's.

We flew eastwards straight into the deepening night, the last light vanishing behind the horizon, and in front of us loomed the black silhouette of the eastern mountains against the dark blue, star-speckled sky, the rugged horizon adorned by the wafting tendrils of the aurora. It looked as if we flew directly into the curtain of light, and I wondered if it was possible to feel them. Until Odahviing rose me from my musings.

"Look there, right in front of us, Dovahkiin," he prompted me, a challenge in his voice, "you see that?"

I watched closely, the flickering colours obscuring my view, but finally I saw what he wanted me to see – two shadows circling over a mountaintop, tiny at the distance, with the distinctive motion pattern of dragons gliding on the wind.

"These are only the sentries. There will be more, and they are expecting you."


	18. Alduin

I was on my own and dependent only on myself, the strength of my arm and of my will. My own perseverance.

Odahviing had dropped me off a short distance beneath the looming walls of Skuldafn, and his farewell had been short and taciturn.

“We will meet again if you return, Dovahkiin,” he had said. “And if you don’t… Alduin will reward me for bringing him his greatest foe.” And then he was gone before I had opportunity to answer his challenge.

Before I could even get the glimpse of an overview of the enormous complex, I was already attacked, the dragons that had seen us coming from afar shooting down on me. Two dragons at once without any distraction or help… I needed cover, and fast, and the only way was the broad ramp leading up to the huge gateway. Which led directly into the ruins. Which were without doubt populated by more dragons and whatever Alduin deemed worthy to man his most important bastion with.

Awesome.

No use in trying to sneak through this first onslaught – far too many creatures knew that I was here, Odahviing’s approach hadn’t been exactly subtle. The two dragons roared their fury into the night sky when I darted into the cover of the first archway, an icy blast covering my backside with a layer of frost, arrows raining down from the coping and recoiling from the shield I held above my head.

So far, for the first seconds, I had been lucky. But I had only another few seconds to catch my breath when I heard the typical erratic shuffling of approaching steps. Three draugr attacked out of the courtyard, and now I could also make an educated guess of what kind the archers on the wall were. Dragons and undead, what an unholy alliance, and I was attacked from several sides at once.

When the first group of draugr lay in a heap at my feet, I took care of the worms. They both circled above my position and tried to reach me with their blasts, but as long as I hid beneath the thick outer wall I was safe. As were they. A new shower of arrows hit me as soon as I left my hiding place, but my Shout hit the first of the beasts right into its chest and forced it to land, and I darted back into my shelter.

Impossible to get close, the archers would lard me before I’d reach him, but at least he couldn’t take off any more. Now I was glad that I had spent a fortune on the bundles of arrows that were stuffed into my pack. I needed many of them for this first challenge, fired arrow after arrow, many simply recoiling from his scales when he writhed against the power of Dragonrend, but more and more found their target in his open throat, his eyes and his neck. Finally a single shot somehow pierced into his brain, the dragon twisted his neck backwards as if he wanted to break it, and then he collapsed.

A sigh of relief escaped my lips. I had survived the first challenge of this trip.

The second dragon was brought down in a similar manner, and after his body had dissolved as well, I looked wistfully over the scene of the slaughter – a heap of naked bones, and around it the ground was strewn with dozens of precious arrows I really didn’t want to leave behind.

A careful glimpse into the courtyard revealed a narrow staircase that led to the top of the wall and further over a brittle bridge to a crumpled watchtower. The archers didn’t expect me, their glowing gazes still directed towards the yard outside, and they were lousy melee fighters when I came over them as silent as possible.

Hunching on top of the wall in the shadow of a protruding pillar I could for the first time assess the sheer size of this complex. Skuldafn was built against and into the mountainside, but even the visible part was enormous. The centre was a four-level building, massive and menacing, surrounded by a maze of ramps, bridges, watchtowers, smaller buildings and stairways that filled the huge courtyard I overlooked now. And from the top of the main tomb… or temple… orcrypt, whatever it was, a brightly gleaming lance of light shot up into the sky. It looked unearthly, and it drew me in. This was my destination.

But my convenient overlook revealed another detail. The whole complex crawled with life and unlife, with another dragon sitting on top of a crumpled watchtower in the far corner of the yard, groups of draugr patrolling the floor and the upper levels, dozens of archers standing guard on bridges and walls. Odahviing had been right, Alduin had gathered all his remaining strength to protect this place, and if I delved right into this fortification and drew attention in the wrong moment, I’d have at once all of Alduin’s forces at my heels. And even if I made it through the outside area, I didn’t even want to think what awaited me inside of the main building.

No, to fight through Skuldafn would be madness. I knew my metes and bounds. But it lay in a valley, sheltered and hidden and surrounded by the peaks of the Velothi mountains. Mountains that towered much higher than even the highest building. And nobody could tell me that draugr were good at climbing, not with the way they already stumbled over their own feet on even ground.

I would go around it. It would be hazardous as well, to climb the steep mountainside, slippery with snow and ice and now in the depth of night, but it would still be much safer than the direct way.

It didn’t look that hard from below, it really didn’t. Of course I had to cross through steep, icy, unpathed terrain, but it didn’t look  _ that _ hard, and a confident grin spread around my lips when I unpacked the rope I never left home without. Your pathetic forces won’t even know that I’ve been here, Alduin.

The northern slope looked marginally less steep than the other side, and it also looked as if it would bring me a little bit easier to the roof of the temple. But whatever it looked like, it was a false promise. At first I didn’t mind that the only way up led away from Skuldafn. My climb was far from soundless – every rolling pebble seemed to trigger an avalanche and made enough noise that I expected to have woken the attention of the army not too far away.

At first, I also didn’t mind that the ascend went slowly – better safe than sorry. But it went too slowly, time went by far too fast, and when the moons finally descended behind the horizon in my back I was still far from the height I had to reach.

When I finally got to admit to myself that the whole idea had been insane, it was far too late.

I could have just sneaked through that army, shot a few draugr in the back if they came too close, and whatever awaited me inside the temple, there were certainly no dragons. After all, I had sneaked through Korvanjund as well, and quite successfully. And if worse came to worst, I could have always shouted my way through. There was so much I could have done… when I hang as a shivering clump of pain in a vertical rock, held only by the tips of my fingers pressed into narrow clefts and a ledge that only provided enough room for the toes of a single foot, the direct way through Skuldafn suddenly looked like a walk in the park.

Upwards. Always upwards. Cursing between clenched teeth I clinged to a few rocks that protruded in front of me, tried to catch my breath and glue myself to the rough surface. Every once in a while a violent squall threatened to blow me into the abyss below me, every muscle burned in agonising fire from the unaccustomed exertion, my fingers were raw and bloody even through the thin leather of my gauntlets, and the sweat froze in my braids and ran down my spine, leaving soreness and chill behind.

And I couldn’t even turn back. A descent would have ended in an inevitable crash and many broken bones. Only to look down to the yard where Odahviing had landed and I had started my insane climb made me feel dizzy.

When I pulled myself on top of a ridge, the muscles of arms and shoulders bursting in an outbreak of pain, I lay prone for a few endless seconds, panting and heaving, whimpering when I pulled off the gauntlets and cooled my hands in the thin layer of snow covering the rocks. And when I finally opened my eyes again, already steeling myself for the next stage, I had reached my destination – I lay directly above the roof of the temple, and nobody knew that I was there.

I was too tired to be relieved. When I turned to my back with a heavy sigh and saw the first tendrils of a faint morning light quiver over the top of the mountain, still high above me, I suddenly realised that I hadn’t slept for nearly two days. And beneath me waited already the next challenge – two dragons sitting on top of enormous columns, waiting and watching, their heads slowly swinging back and forth, their wings neatly folded to their backs. Half a dozen heavily armed draugr patrolled the lower level of the area, and on an elevated platform in the centre, accessible only over a broad stairway, lingered a dragon priestsimilar to the foe Athis and I had faced at Forelhost, the crude mask clearly recognisable even from the distance.

Even the dragons themselves looked like friendly pets against this enemy. It was the guardian of a hole in the ground, but beneath it wasn’t the interior of the temple. There was light and shadows and matter, swirling around in a maelstrom that made my head spin, and from its centre protruded this beam of light I had already seen from below, this piercing brilliance that tore into my eyes and fought back the gentle light of the morning.

I had found the portal to Sovngarde.

Despite my exhaustion and the ache in my bones, so close to my destination somewhere deep inside I found the strength to start my final attack. The draugr were taken out by a few well targeted arrows when they passed through the ditch between the central platform and the mountain slope, their corpses hidden from view where they fell. The dragons would be a bigger problem, though – impossible to take on them one by one, and as soon as they took off the priest would be alerted as well. To try to fight all these foes at once, alone and in my current spot quite exposed would be suicide.

My only hope was that the guardian of the entrance to Alduin’s refuge took his duty seriously, that he wouldn’t leave his spot and that I’d be able to lure the dragons out of his reach. In one of the walls at the opposite side of the roof I spotted a small doorway, probably the entrance to the temple’s interior. It formed a shallow niche I could perhaps hide in, not much cover but better than nothing, and in the worst case I could flee inside – provided that the door wasn’t locked.

My heart beat ferociously when I slipped down the remaining distance and landed between the remains of the draugr, noisy and open, bow already drown. One of the dragons had already risen from his resting place and hovered above me when I came to my feet again, his roar waking the thrill of the fight. He got an arrow into his throat, and a shout

_ “WULD!” _

brought me out of his immediate reach. I felt the adrenaline of the fight pulsing through my veins. Everything so far had been only exhausting and tedious, but I wanted to enter Sovngarde like a warrior, not like a thief. Instead to cower into the niche of the doorway I turned, faced him and charged with a yell, and Dragonrend forced him to land. My hazardous charge surprised him, Dragonbane piercing into his eye before he was able to react, hot blood gushing out of the socket. With a violent jerk he freed his head from the blade, his fangs snapping shut only inches from my face, but the rabid movement made him slip and glide on the limited space of the roof, he lost his footing, and slowly the huge body slipped backwards over the edge of the temple down into the courtyard, his last shriek cut off abruptly when he broke his neck.

The warm tendrils of his soul still enveloped me when I span frantically around, searching for the other dragon, but he was gone. No, not gone, only out of my reach, circling high above the complex, no danger for the moment. With a furious yell I took the steps to the upper level two at a time, to my final foe, the priest already awaiting me in front of the unearthly beam. The lightning strike hitting me right into the chest only made me stumble, and I charged with everything I had, blood pounding in my ears and pumping through my veins, fuelled by the frenzy of my beast. He retreated from my onslaught while he sent a barrage of magic against me, but nothing would have been able to stop me now, and I chased him around the whirling light, my senses awake and alert like never before, every single fibre set on this last challenge. I knew he was frail, his strength lay in his magic and I only had to reach him, and a last

_ “WULD!” _

and I crashed into him with swinging blade, my shield making him stagger and hurling the staff out of his grip, stopping my own unrelenting movement.

“Zu’u Nahkriin,” he snarled, the voice sounding hollow from behind the grim mask. “Zu’u uth naal thurri dein daar miiraad.”

“Your guard will end now, Nahkriin,” I answered between gritted teeth.

Clawlike, naked hands reached for me, pulsing with magic, their touch making me scream and my heart flutter. But I would not let him escape again, my shield fell away when I searched for a grip in his tattered robes and only grasped nothing, and then my fist closed around his neck, I lifted him even higher, the weightless creature still shooting lightning from its fingertips, and finally the tip of my blade found an opening between his armour and mask and pierced through rotten flesh.

He shoved me away with unearthly strength and a last violent flare of his unlife, and I braced myself for the impact. An impact that didn’t come.

I fell for an eternity, flailing and tumbling, my scream fading into the nothingness around me, no colours, no light, no shadows left. Panic clenched my chest, but there was nothing I could do. The gods didn’t even trust me to make this step on my own, and now it was too late to prepare, to take a last breath, too late to greet the light of my world once more and too late to say farewell.

I wasn’t ready, but when had I ever been? Fury flared up and overrode the panic as I shouted my ire into the void. But I was mute and deaf and senseless in this in-between, my own scream inaudible even to myself. Fighting was futile, and I closed my eyes, let the darkness behind my lids fill me.

* * *

It was weird to sense my own eyelids flutter, hesitantly, as if they didn’t want to allow the sensations of the outside to enter to my mind, and when they finally opened I couldn’t blame them. The maelstrom that had devoured me was still there, it surrounded me and was everything I saw, the colours of dusk and dawn, pink and purple, orange, red and blue swirling towards a blindingly bright centre.

Only slowly I became aware that there was more, that the hooded faces of gigantic, faceless statues looked down on me, that I lay flat on my back, with soft grass and warm earth beneath me. My fingers clenched into the soil, and this very substantial feeling of solid earth beneath my fingernails finally made me move. My body ached when I propped myself on my elbows and flexed my muscles against the stiffness, but it was a different kind of ache than the one I remembered from before. I felt as if I had slept for days, rigid and sore and tired from resting too long, but at the same time strong and relaxed.

And alive. I knew beyond any doubt that I was still alive.

Except for the strange, unearthly sky above me, my surroundings looked remarkably normal. Normal for an after-world, that is… it was still far from everything I had ever seen, a scenery of a truly unearthly beauty. A landscape of harsh mountains and green valleys, wood-covered hills rolling into the distance and streaked by lively streams, and far away a gigantic building seemingly hovering above an abyss. But most of all was it the light that made everything so completely different than my world, every colour looking much brighter than it should, and it gave the whole scenery an unsubstantial, magical feeling.

Sovngarde was beautiful, and still it was a tainted beauty. A path led from my position down the mountain, and when I lowered my view and tried to follow it, it vanished into a valley not only covered, but filled with mist. Impenetrable mist, dark, devious and sinister… this was Alduin’s hunting ground, the snare of a coward, picking his prey out of a trap instead to hunt and to fight it openly. The sight let my neck hair stand on end, and when I entered the shadowed land with hand on my hilt and the light vanished in the thick haze that was nearly tangible, lying like cotton around my senses, a cold, determined fury awoke in me.

_ “LOK VAH KOOR!” _

Shouting was easier here in Sovngarde than it was on Nirn, I realised with delight, less painful and exhausting. I didn’t know why, but my body seemed to offer less opposition to the powers I released, and the mist cleared before me, revealing a paved path. From above the familiar roar answered my challenge with anticipation and wrath, the sound scratching at my innards. But I couldn’t see him, the World-Eater, he didn’t show himself. I shouted my way free with joy and with pride, I wanted him to hear me, wanted him to know that I had come for him and that his snare wouldn’t detain me.

But I wasn’t alone, and not only Alduin heard me. There were souls wandering through the mist, lost and frightened, Alduin’s prey, unable to find a way out of the doomed valley and to Shor’s hall, and they were hopeless and scared. They pleaded that I’d lead them, that I’d show them the way, but every time I shouted, Alduin answered and I looked behind me, they were gone again. Lost souls, trapped not only in the gloom around them, but even more in the sheer terror the Worldeater evoked.

I would not fall victim to this terror, although I felt the atmosphere tug on my determination, how it tried to drip with helpless anger and frustration into my mind. If I couldn’t help these people now, I’d end this menace once and for all.

Only one of the people I met, a Stormcloak soldier lingering motionless beside the path, his face raised to the sky, shook me to the core. So far I had met no one I knew, not even remotely and was glad about it, but I knew this man, big, blond and burly, a scruffy beard covering his cheeks, clad in tattered blue armour. This was the man who had helped me to escape Helgen, he had faced the dragon with me for the first time, and now he was here, dead and still prey to his insatiable hunger.

“Turn back, traveller,” he said with grim fatigue in his voice, “all courage is vain against the foe who guards this way.” He barely looked into my face.

“Who are you, soldier?”

He didn’t expect an answer to his plea, and now he looked at me, his eyes growing wide with wonder.

“I know you,” he whispered incredulously, “and you don’t belong here.”

“Yes,” I nodded, “you remember too. Once you saved me from him,” I pointed at the invisible sky, “and now I will save you. I am more than just a traveller. What’s your name, soldier?”

“Ralof. Ralof of Riverwood.” His voice was firmer, now he had something to focus on.

“How did you get here, Ralof of Riverwood?”

“Does it really matter?” His laughter was bitter. “A stray arrow in an Imperial ambush, near Giants’ Gap, in the gloom before the dawn. A death neither brave nor honourable… and still I’m here…”

“You risked your life once when you helped me to escape the World-Eater, and perhaps you saved yourself with that deed,” I said. “Stand fast. Alduin will fall, and soon.”

I didn’t even try to make him follow me, but now I nearly ran through the mist, shouted it away whenever possible and let it engulf me when not. This one time I wouldn’t lose my way, and finally the enormous building of Shor’s Hall emerged before my eyes, filling my sight with its glory, greeting me over the abyss that separated it from the rest of the valley. The impressive bridge that led over a gushing river was made of an enormous spine, and in front of it waited the largest man I had ever seen.

“What brings you, wayfarer grim, to wander here, in Sovngarde, souls-end, Shor’s gift to the honoured dead?”

Wayfarer grim? The relief to have escaped the ubiquitous mist and this strange greeting curled my lips into a feeble grin. The warrior had already been impressive from afar, but when I finally stood before him, I barely reached his chest. His bare chest, a landscape of bulging muscles, only his waist protected by a thick belt with iron fittings, broad like the trunk of the Gildergreen, shoulders that would barely fit through a normal door, and strapped to his back was the biggest greataxe I had ever seen. I would probably barely be able to lift it – heck, even Farkas would have had difficulties to wield this monster. And above all this intimidation glanced friendly, grey eyes down on me.

I was by no means small, although with the Companions I was used to be looked down on. But not like this. Not that I had to tilt my head into my neck to see the other’s face.

“Who are you?” I asked brusquely, taking a step back.

“I am Tsun, shield-thane to Shor. The Whalebone Bridge he bade me guard and winnow all those souls whose heroic end sent them here, to Shor’s lofty hall where welcome, well earned, awaits those I judge fit to join that fellowship of honour.”

Oh. A whale, not a dragon, that was a pleasurable change for once. And his sententious words… somehow, they fit for this man, or god, judge of all the souls that passed his way.

But I was no soul, and I didn’t want to join their fellowship, honourable or not.

“I don’t seek entrance to the hall, Tsun. I’m here to pursue Alduin.”

“A fateful errand. No few have chafed to face the Worm since first he set his soul-snare here at Sovngarde’s threshold. But Shor restrained our wrathful onslaught – perhaps, deep-counselled, your doom he foresaw.”

Oh, that was encouraging. Shor forbid the countless heroes of old to hunt the devourer of their fellows just to see me fail first?

Deep-counselled, indeed. Splendid.

But Tsun regarded me thoughtfully. “No shade are you, as usually here passes, but living, you dare the land of the dead. If you’re here for the worm I bid you enter the hall to seek counsel with those whose hearts seek revenge for their doom by the World-Eater.”

“Then let me enter.”

A small smile appeared on his face. “By what right do you request entry?”

I had the feeling he was mocking me. He knew I didn’t belong here, he knew what I was and why I was here. This seemed to be a ritual. Perhaps he was bored, it had to be a long time since someone tried to pass him.

I straightened my shoulders. “By right of birth. I am Dragonborn.”

“Ah! It’s been too long since last I faced a doom-driven hero of the dragon blood. But living or dead, by decree of Shor, none may pass this perilous bridge till I judge them worthy by the warrior’s test.”

With these words, he drew his gigantic axe. The warrior’s test, of course. Nothing better than a bit of blood-spilling to prove one’s honour and mettle. My fellow Nords had a very simplistic concept of competence and how to demonstrate it, and even the thousands of years they had spent here obviously hadn’t helped with that.

I eyed him curiously. “You know that we are all doomed, the living just as the dead, if you cleave me in half now, don’t you?”

He bared his teeth in a grin and nodded.

_ “FUS!” _

I flew backwards with a surprised yell, but fortunately I landed on soft earth and it took only a moment to get up again. With gritted teeth I drew my sword and put it away again in the same motion. Dragonbane’s long, slim blade looked like a toothpick against his weapon, never would I be able to beat this divine giant in an ordinary fight. But it seemed he wanted to play a game I was familiar with.

No one would stop me now. Not even Shor’s lackey, as impressive as he was.

But my opponent was stronger, faster and more cunning than every other living man I had ever fought, he gave no quarter and stretched my skill to the limit. Tsun charged, nearly too fast for me to react, and I knew at first I had to protect myself from the devastating blow of his axe.

_“FEIM ZII GRON!”_

I felt myself become ethereal and the razor-sharp blade of his axe cleave through the non-substance of my body. Ouch, that would have ended badly. I had only gained a few seconds and had to use his surprise, but I still needed some time to catch my breath, to get rid of the weird dizziness in my head, and the effect of the first shout ended before I was ready again. I had only one chance as Tsun swang at me again, muscles of arms and shoulders bulging, had to make use of the one trait that could perhaps match him and darted around him as fast as I could.

But he was faster, and I wasn’t as fast any more as I once were. His weapon’s hilt caught me in the side, made me stagger and stumble and sent me to my knees. I crouched in the shadow of the giant and pressed air into my lungs with a pained breath.

_“TIID KLO!”_

It was a risk, I didn’t even know if it would work, if time functioned the same here in Sovngarde as in my world. But fortunately it did, and the wide arc of Tsun’s axe that was aimed for my neck swung into nothingness. I was long gone, behind him, and a

_ “FUS!” _

accompanied by two powerful kicks into the backs of his knees made him stagger and fall this time. When time flipped back into its usual pace, my blade was pressed against his throat and I only removed it when he laid his own weapon away.

He bowed his head respectfully.

“You fought well. I find you worthy. It is long since one of the living has entered here. May Shor’s favour follow you and your errand.”

A man stood at the foot of the stairs when I pushed the heavy doors of the Hall of Valour shut behind me, as if he was expecting me, but he was just one of many, and first I had take in the breathtaking sight in front of me. The Hall of Valour was… the first comparison that came to my mind was  _like Jorrvaskr, just bigger_ . Majestic and homey all at once, just like my first impression of the Companion’s Hall had been. I had to smile at my own thought.

Of course it was much more awe-inspiring, if only due to its size. And of course it wasn’t just a ship turned upside down. The stone ceiling vaulted the gigantic hall in elegant arches, so high above my head that I could barely discern the colourful frescoes adorning it, supported by massive pillars that were covered with intricate reliefs. Large, ogival windows gave access to broad beams of light from the outside, and it mingled with the warm glow of many dozen fire-bowls, lamps and torches.

In the centre blazed a huge fire, sizzling fat dripping from three entire oxen into the flames. Endless rows of large festive tables stood around it, laden with food and drink, while on one side a slightly elevated area was bare of furniture, serving as training yard and brawl room, a playful wrestle taking place right now. Two bare-chested fighters were clasping at each other, a circle of audience around them, yelling and drinking, whooping and betting. Yes, they really bet, and I asked myself what their wager was. In the background of the hall countless aisles and rooms branched off, the whole complex certainly much larger than it looked from the outside, and the scent of roasted meat and other food, fresh ale and sweet mead rose into my nose, making my mouth water.

And through all this wandered the endless hosts of warriors, heroes of old eras and younger times, feasting, eating, drinking, playing and fighting. Valiant souls in the eternal merriment they had earned through honour, glory and bravery.

Finally I noticed the man who seemed to wait patiently that I came to my senses, scrubby blonde hair falling into his face, a scruff beard under friendly blue eyes. He was an impressive figure in his ancient, gleaming armour, with the posture of a born warrior and leader, the axe he had strapped to his back nearly as large as Tsun’s. A beautiful piece of craftsmanship, and only on a second, closer glance I recognised it with a gasp, although I had ever only seen it in pieces.

The weapon was Wuuthrad. And this man was Ysgramor, the founder of the Companions.

“Ysgramor,” I whispered, slowly descending the stairs towards him. My chest constricted with awe. This was the man in whose name we vowed and cursed and lived.

I would never stop to think of myself as a Companion. And gods, how I wished the others could share this with me. Mostly Kodlak, Vilkas and Vignar, the scholars among us, but all of them would be as dumbstruck as I.

And our ancestor greeted me with a friendly smile, an amused twinkle in the corners of his eyes.

“Welcome, Dragonborn!”

I bowed my head respectfully, not sure what to say. There were hundreds of questions I would have liked to ask, but this wasn’t the time. And I would probably never again have opportunity to meet him. I swallowed heavily.

But he already spoke on. “For far too long has our door stood empty, Dragonborn, since Alduin set his soul-snare here in Sovngarde. It was Shor’s command that let us sheathe our blades, and my heart weeps for the souls the worm has devoured since that time.”

“I am here to take on him, Ysgramor. I will fight him…” My voice trailed off. I wanted to promise him to fight this battle with the honour the Companions had taught me, but I couldn’t. In this fight, honour didn’t matter.

But the warrior bowed his head and bared his teeth in a grin that took me off guard. “You _will_ fight with honour, and you won’t have to battle him alone,” he said, and my eyes widened in surprise. “Three await your word to loose their fury upon the perilous foe: Gormlaith the fearless, glad-hearted in battle, Hakon the valiant, heavy-handed warrior, and Felldir the old, far-seeing and grim.”

I knew those names, I had seen Gormlaith die against Alduin, during their last battle. And for a brief moment I wondered if some day someone would remember me with equally flamboyant bynames. Probably not.

But Ysgramor had already turned around, and I hurried to follow him through the hall. The people we met barely seemed to take notice of me, although many of them greeted my guide. Everyone seemed to be busy, and I was busy looking around in awe anyway, and only when we had passed the huge fireplace and he steered towards a corner, I saw a group of three watching us approach attentively.

I recognised them at once. The straw-blonde woman with the fierce eyes and stripes over her face very similar to Aela’s, her whole posture alert and eager; the redhaired warrior with the huge battle-axe and deep black warpaint, emphasizing the white milkiness of his right eye, giving me a friendly and curious gaze from beneath a braided mane and thick brows; and the old man with knotted beard and a robe that resembled the one the Greybeards still wore today, his staff strapped to his back, calmness and prudence in his features.

A wave of relief washed over me when I saw those three, battle-hardened, experienced warriors who knew exactly what they got themselves into. Although we had never met before – not really – it felt like meeting old friends, the instinctive bond of brothers and sisters in arms, joining in the final battle against our common foe.

“At long last! Finally Alduin’s doom is ours to seal, Dragonborn – just speak the word, and with high hearts we will hasten forth to smite the worm!” The enthusiasm to get out there spoke out of Gormlaith’s face when she looked from me to her fellows for approval.

“Revenge on Alduin has been too long delayed,” Hakon muttered, “and still my heart burns like a hundred lifetimes ago.” His voice was remarkably soft for such a hate-ridden hero.

Looking at them, I knew we didn’t need council. We just needed our determination and the strength of our blades to finally quell the depth of our hate. We had all suffered under Alduin, had made similar experiences, had seen friends and beloved ones die to his terror. Dead or alive, we were related, and suddenly a strange, stout calmness settled in me, a calmness that transformed the black, abysmal hate I felt for the worm into deadly resolve.

The same deadly resolve I found in the faces of my new companions.

We would fight him, and we would best him.

“Let’s get over with it,” I said and turned to the exit, but Felldir stopped me.

“Hold, comrades – let us not join the battle blindly. Alduin’s mist is more than a snare – its shadowy gloom is his shield and cloak. But with four Voices joined, our valour combined, we can blast the mist and bring him to battle.”

We would fight him together, and of course we would join our Voices. I didn’t think this had to be discussed.

But Hakon encouraged his old friend. “Felldir speaks wise – the World-Eater, coward, fears you, Dragonborn.” To hear it from someone else was encouraging, and I gave him a smile. “We must force him to fight and divest him of his hiding place. Let’s Shout together, and then let’s unsheathe our blades in the last battle with our black-winged foe.”

“And then we will have our well-tempered revenge,” Felldir said with an ironic smile, and Gormlaith finally stormed eagerly past me, the men following her.

“To battle, my friends! Let the fields echo with the clamour of war!” Not very well-tempered, that woman, but I knew that already. Her enthusiasm made me grin.

We ran over the bridge, hectic, nearly frantic, eager to start. Tsun awaited us at the end, arms crossed over his massive chest. “The eyes of Shor are upon you this day. Defeat Alduin, and destroy his soul-snare.”

The god could get lost. This was no spectacle for his entertainment. This was about our worlds and our lives – eternal or mortal, it didn’t matter – and we would take our fates into our own hands.

It was eerily silent when we approached the edge of the mist in a firm line, no moans and screams from the lost souls inside, and not a sound from Alduin.

He hid from us, the coward.

On a hidden signal, our voices echoed through the valley, thundering, overwhelming, a choir of power.

_ “LOK VAH KOOR!” _

The mist cleared instantly, revealed the ethereal beauty of the landscape, and people stood there, hundreds or thousands as far as my view reached, stunned from the sudden clearness around them. Some of them started to run towards us, towards the redemptive bridge they had searched in vain for so long.

_ “VEN MUL RIIK!” _

Alduin’s answer came fast, a sinister scream from far away, and the fog crept back over the land and the lost souls, letting out only desperate screams from inside.

“Again!” Hakon yelled.

We Shouted twice more, and twice more Alduin mocked us, hiding instead to answer our challenge. Gormlaith encouraged her brother who was on the brink of giving up. “Only once more. His strength is faltering, I feel it!”

Next time it remained quiet and clear. And then, finally, the familiar black shadow came flying around a peak in the distance, growing with every heavy flap of his mighty wings, his silhouette dreadful and looming before the beautiful colours of the sky. We watched him in awe. He circled above us, out of reach, but finally he had answered our challenge.

Again it was Gormlaith who broke the silence with a cry of victory. “The endless wait gives way to battle! Alduin’s doom, his death or ours!”

His death, if I had any saying in it.

The World-Eater loomed above us, challenging screams erupting from my comrades, but around me, inside of me it became quiet and dark. I closed my eyes and shut everything else out, the yelling warriors, the screaming of the people running towards the shelter of the bridge, the rush of wind caused by the heavy flap of wings. Nothing was left but the distinctive, nauseating smell of rotten flesh and molten iron and his hateful, screeching scream, and something rose in me, a fire kindled and fed by all my fears, all my grief and sorrow and all the pain I had suffered because of this creature. A silent flame of purest, clearest hate, lighting my mind with bright, calm tranquillity and transforming my will and everything I was into the power of a dragon.

Nothing else mattered any more, not past nor future, not if I lived or died. Only Alduin’s demise. My lust for this battle broke free in a Shout that crushed into the World-Eater and forced him to land.

_ “JOOR ZAH FRUL!” _

The blue flames engulfed him and Alduin screamed in terror and rage when he came down, falling, flailing, plunking into the hilltop across from our position. The four of us charged, blades held high and magic sizzling in Felldir’s palms, and before we even reached him the various effects of our Thu’ums charged the air with elemental power, an ice-blast from Hakon, fire from Gormlaith and blinding lightning from Felldir.

I had never felt so charged, so tense, so focused in my whole life. Every single nerve was set onto this single task and onto this foe, every bit of training, the experience of every fight I had survived, my instincts and the wolfish sharpness of my senses mingling into the trance of this battle. I didn’t miss my shield that I had lost on top of Skuldafn when I lashed out at him for the first time. This wasn’t about protecting myself… it was about giving death.

We pierced and stabbed and hacked at his limbs, wings and neck, and Dragonbane as well as the blades of my fellows found miraculously the small gaps between the plates of his armour, tore through hide and flesh. The beast writhed and flailed against us, struggled against the force of Dragonrend that was renewed over and over again, screaming with wrath and terror, and soon he bled from dozens of small wounds. Our Thu’ums whirled around him in unrelenting assault, covering him in fire and ice, assaulting his life-force and releasing the powers of the elements against him. I heard Gormlaith’s fuelled laughter and Hakon’s roared warcries, both injured and bloodied but unwavering in their efforts, and from behind came lightning and ice from Felldir’s hands and staff.

But the dragon’s reserves of energy and strength were endless and undepletable, and although he was hurt and bound to the ground he didn’t falter or weaken. He not only fended off our assault, but made us dance around him in endless circles of approach and retreat, attacked with teeth, claws and tail, a massive, writhing mass of muscles and fire. More than once I expected to hear that sickening crunch of his fangs tearing through armour, flesh and bones.

When I noticed that our Thu’ums resounded fainter and more seldom, that the mocking and teasing insults and challenges of Gormlaith and Hakon had trailed off, it only hardened my determination. I didn’t even know if they felt the pain of their injuries, the one-eyed warrior limping heavily, his strikes still strong but less agile, and the woman wearing severe scorch-marks on her arms and neck. But I felt them, the burns on my skin, bruises and wounds, the fatigue in my muscles and the painful breaths for smoke-filled air. And still the worm was as strong and fast as he was at the beginning.

The longer the fight lasted, the quieter it became around me and the higher the flame of my hate blazed, fuelled by fury and frustration.

_ “STRUN BAH!” _

The sky darkened, and I howled with triumph when clouds covered the whirling colours and lightning shot down into the black hide of the Dragon. It was only a short respite though, with Alduin raising his neck and shouting in answer, and his power overruled mine by far. He used my own shout against me, reformed the clouds I had conjured into the dreaded maelstrom of darkness I knew already from the Throat of the World, let fire and glowing rocks rain down on us.

The howl transformed into a scream of rage, and the monster set his eyes on me, the red flame of hate and arrogance glowing in their depths. It was in this moment that I realised that he had set his attention solely on me, that he answered my call, that this fight had become a duel between him and me instead of a battle of four against one. I was his true enemy, it was my job to end him, and he dared to mock me. For a split second I lost my focus, didn’t react fast enough, and a violent blow of his wing made me fly out of his reach and land on my back. The impact shot through my body with a wave of pain, agony exploding in a brilliant burst and forcing the breath from my lungs. Colourful dots swam before my vision, but even worse than the pain was the sound of his laughter and the rasp of voice.

“Pahlok joorre.” He mocked me, accused me of arrogance as I fought myself to my feet.

And he was right. It flashed with the same force through my mind with which the pain shot through my body.

I would not beat him. He was Akatosh’s first-born, sated with the power of millennia. To believe I would be able to beat him at his own game was hubris.

And neither would he beat me.

He was sated with the souls of my fellow Nords. I was sated with the souls of his brethren.

We were alike and equal, matching each other in every respect. Driven by the same forces, abysmal hate and the urge to destroy everything the other stood for.

The sudden cognition hit me with physical impact, made me stumble backwards, a wave of terror overwhelming me. Terror of myself, of what I had become.

I was like him. Demise was all that drove us. I had killed and destroyed, merciless and mindless just like him. I didn’t regret it, it was a part of me and had enabled me to survive. “You’re scary,” Farkas had said, long before I had taken the blood. And although he cloaked the words with a smile, he meant it.

My own hatred had brought me here, the darkness that coiled in my chest, empty and insatiable, the hole in my soul he had caused.

But once, there had been more, something to keep the darkness in check. Something I had lost.

Loathing of myself overwhelmed me, and I doubled over, retching and coughing, until suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“Dragonborn?” It was Hakon, and he flinched back when I straightened my back and gasped for a breath that hurt, bewilderment in his eyes. I really had to look horrible. “Are you alright?”

“Am I scary, Hakon?”

The concern in his face first turned into incomprehension and confusion. Perhaps he thought I had hit my head when Alduin hurled me all over the place, or that I had simply lost my mind. But then a broad grin settled on his likeable face.

“You’re so full of life, Dragonborn.” He patted my back. “Of course you’re scary. What could be scarier than a mortal fighting for eternity?”

He gave me a gentle smile, squeezed my shoulder and hobbled back into the battle to help his hard-pressed fellows out, another warcry erupting from his throat.

And his friendly laughter made me laugh as well, full of relief and ease.

Yes, sometimes I was a monster, bringing mindless destruction. Sometimes I had to be. But I was still more, so much more. I was a human, shield-sister and friend, lover and wife, daughter and mother and only a mortal girl. My fellow humans proved it. Hakon had just proven it, and this was what distinguished me from Alduin.

Alduin only fought against me, and with me against life and time and creation.

But I had so much to fight _for_. It wasn’t lost. It was still there, and even if I had never had a choice _if_ to fight, I could still decide _for what_.

I closed my eyes, and for a moment the stench of the battlefield was erased, and another scent rose faintly into my nose, sweet and fresh. The scent of Kynareth’s flower that still stuck between the scales of my armour, though crumpled and crushed.

I called forth everything that would give me strength, filled my mind with everything that had been good, everything I fought for. I had nearly forgotten them, all these reasons that had kept me going for all these months, but now they poured back like a tide, layered in chaotic, unsorted images on the canvas of the black, writhing mass towering above me.

There was so much of it, and I felt as if I had to burst.

My life passed through my mind, faces emerging from half-conscious memories, voices whispering in my ears. From my childhood up to the last days, and everything only got a meaning because of the people I had met. From my first family to the last, from my parents and my sister to the Companions and so many people between these two poles, people I had used like they had used me, people I had helped and who had been there when I needed them. And in between all those pictures over and over again the one smile that had led me so far, the one face that had always been with me since I had accepted this fate, since I devoted myself to the World-Eater. He was with me even now, loving, caring, trusting, the laughter in his eyes spurring me on.

Now and forever. Never submit.

I clenched to this image and abandoned myself to him, to the unfaltering confidence in silvery eyes, and with the memory of Farkas filling my mind I could finally believe that this wasn’t the end, that there was still an eternity to come.

With a bright laughter I darted back into the fight and towards the creature that was only a monster, hating and hated, invidious and loathed, without a place in this world that was so beautiful and so full of life. He would not take it.

_ “IIZ SLEN!” _

My Shout didn’t freeze him, but the black mass of muscles and scales was suddenly covered in shimmering rime, and the cold slowed his movements noticeably. “You know what, Alduin?” I snickered at him, “now I’m gonna feed you your balls!”

Gormlaith laughed maniacally and Felldir let out another Dragonrend, but I knew it didn’t matter any more. Alduin stopped his writhing and struggling and watched me approach, and then only we two were left, eye in eye, and his burning hate met with my laughter and glee. We both knew it would be over in mere moments and that this was the end, his mindless death and destruction against my life, my own overwhelming desire to live, the life I carried in me, all the lives I would save.

I was stronger than he. And I had by far the better arguments.

I ran towards him and he sat motionless, his neck constricting as he sucked in the air for his last attack.

_ “YOL TOOR SHUL!” _

He released his blast and I ran through the fire, let it engulf me and breathed it in, felt hair and skin sizzle away and the metal parts of my armour heat up until they glowed red and merged with my flesh. I felt neither heat nor pain.

_ “Fus.” _

It was only a whisper, no breath left to give it a sound, but I heard Paarthurnax’ voice ring in my head and pushed the world harder than it would ever be able to push back, bent it to my will, and the force of this Word barely more than a thought made Alduin stagger and stumble and scream.

His head jerked upwards, and Dragonbane found its target and pierced through the soft scales under his jaw into his skull.


	19. Going Home

Tiny needles were piercing my cheek, faint chinks skittering through my skull. The skin was wet. There was no pain, only a small fleck of awareness.

I was so tired. Too tired to bother about the numbness. The snow beneath me was ancient and harsh, cooling the heat on my face. The crystals tickled when they broke and melted. Tiny needles.

It kept me busy, this tickling. Busy and focused and distracted from the dizziness, from the way my heartbeat and my thoughts were slow and heavy and dazed. I tried to find a pattern in the tickles, but there was none. Nothing but this tiny fleck of awareness and dots of light dancing behind my lids. I wasn't cold, just frozen. And so, so tired.

This was what dying felt like. Fatigue and cold, and most of me didn't work any more. Too tired to find out what was left. Only this tiny fleck, the dots in my vision and the chinks of breaking ice in my ear. Meagre leftovers. It wouldn't take long now.

I didn't know where I was and it didn't matter, but I knew where I came from. The black dragon had erupted into the void and I had laughed to counter his last, unbelieving scream, believing for him what he denied. There had been flames and yelling and more heat and more laughter as I dissolved together with Alduin. The divine giant had shouted at me. "A gift," he had said. "A gift from Shor." The laughter couldn't get out. I wouldn't need this gift, but I didn't have the breath to give it back.

I had done what I had come for. They didn't need me any more, and he sent me home, through another maelstrom of colours. For a moment, I waited for the light to change. Then I stopped waiting. Stopped thinking.

But now it had begun again. Why did it take so long? Why had it started again? I was tired of waiting. The bright dots became darker and less. I wanted to go home. It wouldn't take long now.

Something shifted. In me? With me? Around me?

The light burst into a rainbow of sparks on the blinding white as I opened the remaining eye. Why did it still work? Why did it still hurt? Too bright, too many colours. The hooked outline of a claw in front of my face was blurred, as long as my arm and protruding from crimson scales. Beside it, stark contrast against the snow, another claw, tiny in comparison, charred and blistered. Raw red flesh glistened in the cracks of what had been my skin. How had I lost my gauntlet? It was important. I did not remember to lose my gauntlet. A shadow shifted over me, the sudden darkness relief.

"Thuri Dovahkiin," the dragon's voice rang from above, "you've proven your mastery. This is your doing. Listen!"

I did as he told me. A choir echoed around me. Had it been there before? A choir of grief, sorrow and shock.

"Alduin mahlaan!" they roared over the howling of the wind, the dragons that had gathered here. They never gathered, solitary creatures that they were, only now as they had to mourn their master, the fallen son of a god, in hollow voices full of power and melancholy. It had to be dozens, and I would have liked to watch them, but to hear their lament had to be enough. A spectacle nobody had ever witnessed before, and no one would ever again. Their mourning was the recognition of my triumph. The skin of my face broke when my lips curled into a smile.

It was nice.

"They acknowledge your power, and so do I. When you call me, I will come, Dovahkiin."

Soundless laughter bubbled up, shaking my body in erratic convulsions. Breathing hurt and laughing hurt even worse, enough to yearn for the darkness that crept back into my mind.

That smug bastard. Thuri Dovahkiin!

The Dragonborn Overlord lay more dead than alive in the ancient snow of the Throat of the World, dozens of dragons around her, unable to move, unable to speak, only still breathing because her battered, stubborn corpse couldn't decide if it wanted to perish from internal injuries, burns, broken bones, blood-loss or simply freeze to death. Or perhaps his brethren would tear me to pieces when they had finished their lament, and he would sit there and watch because I didn't call him.

And Odahviing towered above me and acknowledged my power. Hilarious. As if it still mattered. Another chortle coiled my innards.

"You ass," I choked out, the whispered sound tearing through my throat like molten iron. "Get lost." Every breath, too shallow to lift the pressure in my head, flared like an inferno through my chest. I wanted it to end and closed the eye again, closed down whatever was left of me and waited for the darkness to come back. It wouldn't take long now.

But Odahviing wasn't finished with me. He tilted his neck and bent his head down, sulphurous, reeking breath hot on my face. It hurt as well.

"You sure, Dovahkiin?" Smug amusement trembled in his voice. "I could take you home."

Bastard. I didn't need him to go home. I had fought for life in all its glory, for safety and peace. I would go home with or without him.

"You want to go home, Qhourian?" Odahviing asked again, and now his voice was a nearly gentle rumble. I started to hallucinate, and I wondered why he knew my name and why he used it all of a sudden. A grin tugged the corners of my lips, I felt the skin break again and the hot sting of tears burn in the cracks.

My own lust for life had defeated Alduin. It had been worth it, I had said farewell to this life, and now I would go home. Go where I belonged. I had earned it.

"Yes," I whispered, and he hooked those claws around me and lifted off, up into the wind and cold and darkness.

"Don't move," the sonorous voice of the dragon rang above me through the sky, "and don't die. It won't take long."

No, it wouldn't take long. I would have liked to see the land once more, but it was too late. So cold and so tired. Nothing hurt any more. The darkness crept in and lit up, the storm of heavy wing-flaps engulfed me and became a gentle breeze. Before my eyes, unseeing and still so clear formed a picture of glowing moons hanging over a lush forest, the scent of pines in spring, the light a reddish twilight, soothing and welcoming. A familiar howl echoed through my mind. A greeting. I fell and let go, light-hearted, thankful and without any regrets.

Now and forever. Finally, it would be true, and the bloodmoons were guiding me home.

"Not yet." The voice was near, but I couldn't make out the direction. Rough and dark and gentle, surrounding me like a blanket. "Not yet, love." A caress like a spring breeze, a waft of familiarity and peace, burning the skin of my face with a new blast of fire.

It shouldn't hurt. Not any more, not like this, not with this blinding agony.

_Why does it hurt so much?_

"Because you don't belong here. Not yet."

_Make it stop. I want to stay. I earned it._

"Yes, you did, and one day you will. But not yet." Something touched my lips, soft and dry and warm. A scent like a blanket. "Live your life, love. Make your own choices. You earned it."

_I can't. It hurts too much._ I clung to the faint scent of pines in the air and to the sound of this voice, so rough and gentle, wanted to cry and plead and sell my lifetime for the right to stay. For this agony to end. The cry couldn't get out either.  _Don't send me away. Please. Don't send me away._

"Listen, Qhouri." A palm on my forehead, soothing the panic. Another on my belly. "Listen. Please."

I tried. Warmth pierced the cold, a tiny fleck of awareness. I listened and felt, followed his guidance, and finally I found what he wanted me to find. A rhythm, faint and fluttering. Faltering, stopping, starting over.

A pulse. A beating heart. Stubborn.

His laughter was bright. "He needs you now. You have to go."

I couldn't just  _go_ . I didn't know where. I belonged here.

But there was a beating heart, hurting and struggling and living. Still living. I could feel it, deep inside of this battered shell of agony. My child.  _Our child._ I couldn't let it stop.

Lips on my forehead, tender, careful and soothing. "Have faith, love. Take your chances. I want you to be happy." He sent me away, and it hurt. It hurt so much.

 

* * *

 

Floating in boiling water, tossed about by waves and tides. I was powerless against their strength, a plaything of the current, of the ebb and flow of awareness. Every wave crushed me into the sharp rocks of pain, melting my skin and replacing the air in my throat with liquid fire.

I wanted to drown, the depths beneath luring with darkness, quiet and cool. They pulled me in with their promise of peace and salvation, and sometimes I fell and sunk and stopped struggling, relieved. Then the darkness enwrapped me, cold enough to extinguish the flames, and it didn't hurt any more.

But the current was merciless and pushed me up, always upwards, towards the heat and the pain and the flaring light that was still drawing me in. It hurt, but I had to reach it. It was always there, a pulsing beat in rhythm with my own heart, roaring through ears and veins, and the waters shoved me towards it and there were flames again and voices and no breath to push the world away.

Up and down, deep into the recesses of peace and finality until the tide gripped me again. Up again. Sometimes, there were words.

"Breathe, Qhourian. You hear me? Breathe, girl."

My body was a vessel filled with fire. The thin air of every shallow breath devoured me from the inside, but I couldn't not breathe. Stars burst behind my lids, and the voice toppled away again.

Down into the quiet and cool. I floated between pain and nothing and awareness. Up and down. And up. Voices, insistent and urgent.

"... to the the temple." An angry whisper beside my head. "... needs better care ... "

"No!" A dark voice, agitation cut down with a sharp breath. "She stays … you have to stay."

"I'm needed … in good hands. … better hands."

Words like staccato, too angry and too loud. "… up to debate. … have her gawked at like a curiosity." The man sighed. "… can't move her anyway. Not before she wakes up."

"We don't even know…" Shrill with worry.

"Don't you…!" the man snapped. "She will. She'll be fine."

"But you can't…"

"She'll be fine!" Heavy steps and the scratch of wood on stone. Warm air streamed in, cool on my face. I turned my head towards the door. There was a wet, wheezing sound - my own breathing, every laboured intake of air devoured as soon as it passed the threshold of my lips.

For a moment it was eerily silent, then the woman stood up.

"Out. Leave us alone." The door clapped shut. Blessed silence. My head was spinning, every sound reaching my brain through a haze of pain, fatigue and confusion. I turned my head towards the voice. Danica was familiar, her presence grounding.

When I opened my mouth, her palm cupped my cheek with a featherlight touch, her thumb sealing my lips. "No speaking, Qhourian. You hear me?" The voice was stern and commanding, but her grip released me when I tilted my head. It was hard to concentrate, but of course I heard her.

The next order. "Look at me." My lids were stuck together, the effort to tear them open causing a wave of headache. Tears blurred my sight when the light pierced in. Too much light, and not enough by far. Dark edges around my vision, maimed and incomplete, the priestess' face hovering above me swimming in and out of focus. It blocked the rest of the room. Her lips pressed into a tight line as she watched me become rigid.

I had known that only one eye was left. I had known, but it simply hadn't mattered before, and I had forgotten about it.

But now, under her scrutiny, it mattered, and I panicked. On the right side was only darkness. Nothing, not even a shadow. I wasn't prepared for this nothing, and a violent shudder went through my body, the shocked intake of breath stuck in my throat. Danica's hand came up and pressed into my shoulder, holding me down and steady.

"Calm down, Qhourian. It's okay. You'll be fine."

I stared at her face, the only thing to focus on. It was close, close enough to see the wrinkles and dark rings around her eyes and the grey hair strands in her bun. A burst of healing magic streamed with gentle warmth through my body and took away the edge of panic and pain. "You know who I am?"

She was Danica, priestess of Kyne. She would fix it. Her lips twitched as I nodded, and her grip on my shoulder relaxed. "You're really back," she said, bewilderment in her voice. I closed my eye again and waited for my heartbeat to calm down.

Next time I woke, it was easier to find my bearings. As long as I didn't try to look around, I could nearly pretend that everything was normal.

And I could only pretend because I was in Jorrvaskr - not in my own room, but in Vignar's chamber right next to the main hall. The window was ajar to let fresh air in, the door as well to keep the room warm. The scents and background noises were so familiar that I relaxed without recognising them initially as what they were. Only a sound beside me let me jerk and come to myself, the questions starting to tumble through my head. Why was I here? How did I get here? It made no sense.

Nothing made any sense. Not the sharp tang of potions and cold sweat, not the cool fingers on my forehead and not that I had to force every breath with conscious effort through the burning coil in my chest. It made no sense that I was dizzy with exhaustion right after waking up and shivering with cold while roaring flames devoured me from the inside.

What did I do here? I had said farewell. I wasn't supposed to come back. It made no sense.

Something rustled on the floor at the footend of my bed - a body turning over under a blanket. There was a movement beside me, the scraping of a chair on the floor and the mattress dipping down as someone took place on the edge of the bed.

Athis. I turned my head to him. "Athis." My lips moved without a sound. I felt his hand on my shoulder, greeting as much as restriction. There was a smile in his voice.

"Welcome back, sister."

Steps approached. "Thank you, Athis. Please tell Tilma we need the tea I brought." Danica's voice was drowsy. It was her who had slept on the cot. She took Athis' place and my wrist into her hand, feeling for the pulse.

I flexed my fingers in her grip. When I tried to do the same with the other hand, I couldn't. Tightly wrapped into bandages that reached up nearly to my shoulder, it felt... weird. Stiff and incomplete.

From there I tried to go on and get a survey over my state. I was covered only by a thin, light linen sheet, and beneath that I was naked - as far as one could be called naked when torso and thighs were entirely wrapped into gauze and bandages. That was the easy part.

Everything else was a cacophony of different aches, none of them unbearable on its own… I had suffered burns and broken bones and flesh wounds and blood-loss before. But together they mingled into a symphony of pain that was as overwhelming as confusing. The right side of my head from temple to shoulder felt as if it was covered in thin ice that would crush with the slightest strain, and although the hollowness in the eye-socket didn't hurt, it was deeply disturbing. My left ankle was splinted and lay on top of a pile of pillows, and I could only guess what the dressings were covering. Every breath, every movement caused sharp stabs of pain beneath them.

And every breath hurt in a way that let all the other aches fade into a dull throbbing, proof of my still beating pulse. I never knew that something as natural as breathing could be so difficult. Even if Danica hadn't forbidden it, there wouldn't have been enough air to speak.

But beneath all this, beneath the pain and the tiredness and the hammering in my head, there was still something else, and Danica gave me time to find it. A counterpoint to my own heartbeat, another rhythm pounding through my blood, it made itself known, insistent and urgent.

Another heart, another pulse. It was still there, and it made everything else insignificant. This stubborn little wonder was the answer to all questions.  _He needs you now._

I turned my head to the priestess. The room was lit only by a single lamp on the nightstand, and concentrating on her face, it was easier to ignore the strange flatness of my surroundings, the lack of perspective and the absence of a large part of my field of view.

"Is he okay?" It was only a barely audible whisper, but I had to know.

For a moment, she looked confused. Only when I moved the other hand down my body and let it rest on my belly, understanding flared through her face.

"He?"

I nodded. Yes, he. My son.

She tilted her head, hesitating. Her grip on my wrist tightened. "He lives. Don't worry."

She was a lousy liar, and that he was alive was something I knew already. I jerked my head impatiently, trying to stare her down. I wanted answers. I needed these answers. "How bad?"

Her gaze explored my face. I clenched my teeth against the throbbing that pulsed between my temples. It didn't help. Finally, she sighed and leant forward, propping herself on her elbows.

"I don't know if he's okay, Qhouri. You had stopped breathing, and I don't know for how long... it's a miracle that he survived that. But if he didn't, you wouldn't either. A miscarriage would have killed you." She rubbed her palm over her face, exhaustion making her features slip for a moment. Her brows furrowed in concern. "But you're in a lousy state, and I can't say for sure if and how he's affected. Only time will tell. All I know is that you'll have to be very, very careful over the next months. With you both." She gave me a gentle smile. "He's definitely a tough little guy."

Oh yes, that he was. Tough and stubborn. I lifted the wrapped hand and brought it between us.

"How lousy."

She tilted her head, an eyebrow arched up. "Worse than everything I've ever seen, and still better than anyone could expect. You heal well. Surprisingly well."

No, not surprising. Hircine's gift.

"The worst are the burns, internal and external. Your windpipe, even your lungs… as if you tried to get cooked from the inside and roasted from the outside. And in some parts… you were pretty crisp." She shouldn't try to amuse me. I wasn't even sure if that was her intention, her demeanour serious. "You lost your eye, and half of your face... well. Crisp. I did my best... but some scars will remain. And we'll have to see if the hair on this side will ever grow back." She pointed at my right temple, then her hand stroked lightly along the sheet that was my blanket. "You will have many lasting reminders. Those wounds..." She sighed. "You'll see. Tonight I'll change the dressings. Burns are always tricky, and in that extent... well, they have to heal slowly, or the scars will become a hindrance later. I'll do what I can."

She turned around when the door opened and Athis entered, carrying a pitcher and a goblet that he set down on the nightstand. He bent over me while Danica filled the goblet.

"I'll lift you up, okay? Relax," he said with a gentle smile. "Don't help." One hand drove under my neck, holding my head and lifting it from the pillow, then the other arm came around my shoulders and shifted lower, splayed around my back as he tilted me into a half lying, half sitting position. When I flexed my stomach muscles involuntarily and tensed as sharp pain flared through my abdomen, his grip tightened. "Relax, Qhouri," he said in a no-nonsense tone. My forehead was pressed against his chest, and he held me firmly until Danica had piled up a few pillows behind me, then let me sink back. "Good girl."

My breath came in shallow rasps, and the skin of my face stung at a spot behind my ear when I tried to answer his smirk, as if it was too tight for that expression. "Bossy," I whispered.

He snorted a laughter. "We're gonna spoil you rotten, believe me. And there's nothing you can do. Not even talk back." He winked at Danica who gave him a fond grin and turned to leave, not giving me opportunity to get into an argument.

The cheer dissolved though when the healer filled the goblet and held it to my mouth. "It will hurt, but you need to drink. Urgently. You're parched." She was right. The inside of my mouth felt raw and sore, but also as if something furry had died inside. The brew was lukewarm and smelled faintly of mountain flowers, chamomile and sage. I always hated sage.

But when she trickled the first drops into my mouth and I swallowed reflexively, it made me sputter and gasp for a breath that didn't want to come, lights exploding behind my lids. Danica waited patiently until I had clamped down on the feeling to suffocate that clenched my chest and let tears stream down my cheek. Only on one side. Only one eye was still able to cry.

She gave me a feeble, apologetic but encouraging smile. "Sorry. But you have to."

I clenched my teeth and steeled myself. In a way, it was similar to the experience after my first climb to Paarthurnax, just worse. Back then, I also thought I'd never speak or breathe or swallow again.

"More," I mouthed, bracing myself. She nodded and let me take a larger gulp. Easier to force down more of the liquid at once, but I was thankful when she put the goblet away and her healing spell touched my throat. My head swam, pain throbbing behind my eyes. I was exhausted.

My gaze wandered to the firmly enwrapped left hand that lay like a dead weight beside me. "What else?"

She took my wrist. "This hand was burnt worst. It seems... you used it to protect yourself. Your face, against the heat. We had to amputate the pinky and the tip of the ring finger. But you'll have to start to use it soon, or the scars will immobilize the muscles." I nodded. I would do whatever she expected of me.

She shrugged. "The rest is not so bad. Your left collarbone was broken, that was an easy fix. Your ankle is broken too, but it's a clean fracture and I left it alone for the moment. You won't get up any time soon anyway. A cracked rib. Oh, and a few flesh wounds and bruises that looked worse than they were. At least in comparison."

How in Oblivion had I broken my ankle? Danica's hand was cool on my forehead. "Enough for now. You need rest." When she caught my tired gaze, her face lit up with a warm smile. "I'll keep watch."

For a moment I wondered why she had to keep watch here in the safety of Jorrvaskr, but my thoughts were too blurred to ponder the meaning of her words further, and then I was back in the drift, waves breaking over and swallowing me, floating between the the darkness in the deep and the light above that sliced me up, pulsing with life.

But now it was stronger than the urge to let myself fall, and when I emerged again, Danica's face was there again, watching me intently as she gave me time to wake. I was sore all over, my eyes heavy and my head drowsy, but this time it really felt like waking. Not overwhelmingly strange any more, not as if I had to convince my body that it still lived. "Good," she said with a content smile, "you didn't stop breathing again. Let's have a look at you." She pushed back the thin cover and went to work with eager professionalism, and I watched her curiously as she started to unwrap my torso.

Thick layers of healing salve mixed with blood and greasy scabs had glued the soft gauze beneath the bandages firmly to the wounds, and when she ripped off the first strip without much ado and without warning, bile gathered in my throat with a new flare of fire, the biting metallic tang of fresh blood, oozing and salve only making it worse. I didn't have the breath to force it down, didn't even have the breath for a whimper.

If she had done this before and I had stayed unconscious throughout, I really had been more dead than alive.

Only her healing spell running in gentle waves through my body kept me conscious. She gave me an apologising look and wiped the sweat from my forehead. "Told you. Crisp. I'd give you something stronger for the pain, but it could harm the child. Can't risk that." She shrugged and peeled off another piece of the stained fabric. Pain spiked white-hot with every strip she removed and folded down into red-hot when she gave me time to get myself together. The cool air puckered my skin, waves of pain making it clammy and shining with sweat. "Honestly, your armour did an amazing job," she said casually, as if to give me something else to focus on. "I still had to cut away some of the burnt skin, but it looks good."

She had a strange idea of  _good_ . Broad stripes of raw flesh ran in curves from the sides of my chest, crossed over my belly and led down to my thighs. Rigged lines, as if painted by a trembling hand. They formed the outlines of the scales of my armour, where they were held together by metal strips. Ironic. At the moment they looked horrible, raw flesh in shades of red and purple and pink, partly covered by a greasy, brown-black smear. Where the wounds were deepest, where she obviously had cut away burnt tissue, they were strangely numb. Only the edges hurt, ragged and unhealthy pale or still covered by remains of scorched, dead skin. 

And Danica said they looked  _good_ .

But they would heal, and only scars would remain - lasting reminders. When I tore my gaze from the severed flesh, she held a mirror in her hand. "You wanna get over with it?"

There was no reason for pity, and I met her eyes with a trace of defiance as I nodded. The face that looked back at me from the polished bronze was the one of a stranger. I was bald, the hair shaved where it wasn't burnt off. My right ear was an unrecognisable clump of swollen flesh, and a good part of my head, face and throat were covered in purple, crumpled skin, sore and tender and streaked with sickly white lines. The corner of my mouth was contorted into a grimace, the scarred tissue rough and numb when I drove my tongue over the lip. The blind, desiccated eyeball lay like a mouldy berry in its socket, milky white with dark edges, the bulge of a scar lifting the eyebrow into a permanent expression of astonishment. Only that there were no eyebrows left.

It didn't look real, it didn't even  _feel_ real, and I stared at the reflection for a long time. For sure, it didn't look like me.

But when I let the hand that held the mirror fall away and turned my gaze to Danica, I met a strange look. She sat very still, her hands folded in her lap. I didn't know what kind of reaction she expected and tried a small smile. It felt cramped and stung where the skin was too tight.

"Draugr," I croaked. I looked like one, and I sounded like one. I even felt like one... not quite dead, but not quite alive either.

She shook her head, opening her mouth as if to say something and shutting it again. She inhaled deeply and bit her lip. I watched her confused. "Did Alduin do this?" she pressed out.

Now I knew why she was so nervous. I also knew that this wasn't what she wanted to know. "Killed him."

She let out a jerky breath and her eyes were moist, but the smile that bloomed on her face was bright and relieved. She slumped forward, her elbows on her knees, and touched my wrist. "Kyne be praised," she whispered. "You'll be fine, Qhouri. I promise you'll be fine."

 

* * *

 

It wasn't the kind of shouting and yelling that was common in Jorrvaskr that startled me from my doze, but a heated discussion loud enough to be audible even down in the living quarters. One of them was Ria, and when the door at the bottom of the stairs slammed open, I heard her rushing after a man whose voice and determined steps I recognised instantly as Jarl Balgruuf's.

"With all due respect, Companion, I will speak with my Thane directly. She's here, isn't she?" He didn't stop, and he didn't bother to speak quietly. Kodlak lifted his eyes from the tome in his lap with annoyed surprise.

"Balgruuf? Himself? So far he has only sent Irileth." It wasn't hard to guess what brought the Jarl to Jorrvaskr in person. For sure he didn't just want to convince himself that my convalescence was progressing well, and I steeled myself for him to barge in. But Kodlak gave me a single look and placed the book on my nightstand, shaking his head. "Never knew when to back off. Time to give him a taste of the Harbinger's domiciliary rights." He gave me a crooked smile. "It won't take long."

I watched him leave, grateful for his unspoken understanding. He had a way to know what I wanted or needed without me having to ask. But then, we had spent a lot of time together lately, more than ever before.

In the beginning, Danica had insisted on someone keeping watch over me at all times because she trusted neither the reliability of my respiratory system nor my survival instinct. I was in no shape to protest, and I got used to someone being there all the time while I floated between deep unconsciousness, troubled sleep and dazed awareness.

Every time I woke, there was still this feeling of disorientation, the refusal to believe what had happened and where I was, the feeling that it made no sense. That I made no sense, even as everything around me was finally right. Foreign in my own body, foreign in Jorrvaskr, foreign in this world.

But I would have to face it again, and although I didn't know if my siblings really understood my struggles - I certainly couldn't articulate them - they did everything to make me feel right. To make me feel at home.

On good days they entertained me with anecdotes from their jobs and gossip from all over the province, they helped me with the exercises and lotions Danica had developed to keep the healing scars smooth, and they spoiled me rotten. The best was a dessert Tilma had invented only for me - ice crushed into fine dust was mixed with cream and honey and whatever juice or mashed fruits she had availabe, then whipped until it was a light, fluffy mousse. It was delicious and a true blessing for my burnt throat.

On bad days, when I was cranky and grumpy and disgusted with myself because I was so damned helpless and every bit of progress took far too long, they left me alone and only took care that I ate and slept.

And on very bad days, when I thrashed around and whimpered through pain and breathlessness, their silent breathing, mumbled words and careful touches still helped more than they probably knew.

They were always there, and when I got lost again in the depth and the coolness and the darkness where I didn't have to breathe, they ripped me out of it and pulled me to the surface. Once my cheek stung in the outline of a hand, a burst of air and light exploding in my head. Ria had her teeth bared above me. She said something, her tears cool on my skin when I huffed into her face. I wanted to know why she cried, but I couldn't ask. But I felt remorse, and I did not dive so deep next time.

Olfina did most of the work, she helped me eat, change, wash and relieve myself, but all of the Companions except Vilkas spent their time at my bedside, and they never gave me the feeling that it was an unwanted duty, even if they had just an hour or two between appointments. Vilkas I didn't see once, he was barely ever in Jorrvaskr, and as weeks went by, the notion that he actively avoided me became stronger and stronger. But although it left a nagging feeling in my stomach, it was something I didn't have the nerves to bother about.

Only later, when Danica had declared me finally out of immediate danger and I had insisted to be moved to my own room so Vignar could come home, it was Kodlak who had taken over most of the duty. It wasn't necessary any more, but the Harbinger cut off my meagre protest by making himself at home. Soon a comfortable armchair had found a place beside my bed, and my desk was covered in piles of books and parchments. He spent long hours every day in my room, reading, scribbling pages and pages of undecipherable notes, sometimes reading to me, sometimes nodding off himself. I wasn't sure why, but I was glad about his company, and I spent hours dozing away, listening to his voice and to my own breath, laboured and uneven, to the fluttery heartbeat inside of me and to the noises that came from upstairs where the Companions were alive and safe.

In Jorrvaskr, I was surrounded by life, and they never let me forget about it.

But when he came back now, Kodlak wore a tense scowl and propped himself heavily on the backrest of his chair instead to sit down and resume his reading.

"You're ready to get back into the action, Qhouri?" He glared at me. "Because you will have to if Balgruuf gets his way."

Seemed the Jarl had made clear that he expected his Thane to report back in for duty, and Kodlak looked like a really pissed off mother hen. I would have liked to witness that confrontation.

I stretched out a hand and gave him a grin. It still felt weird, muscles and skin moving wrong and the scars stinging. "Get me a crutch and I'm in," I whispered. I had my voice back, but it was broken, a rough, scraping sound that was hard to get used to.

He shot me an incredulous look, pushed the chair around so it was facing me and dropped with a heavy sigh into the cushions.

"I don't want to bother you with this, Qhouri," he said. "And I made very clear to him that he has to get through me if he tried that again. And through Danica, and Aela, and Vilkas and Athis… well, I think he got the idea. The problem is that he is right. In a way. We have a problem."

I propped myself on my good elbow and waited until he stuffed some pillows behind me before I wiggled backwards. We had a routine with these manoeuvres in the meantime. The change in position was a relief, because it made other parts of me hurt than before. Despite Danica's efforts, my back was sore from too much lying.

"What kind of problem?"

"That people are so damned nosy!" A fit of coughing came over him, and I wished he would calm down. "We got lots of mail over the last weeks. Some of it to you, but in great parts also addressed to me or the Companions in general, and every single letter wants to know what you did, if you really were in Sovngarde, what happened with Alduin and - occasionally - how you're faring. So far, we ignored most of it. No one but you has the right to speak in your name."

His face was grim. "But Balgruuf faces the same questions, only that in his case they come from higher up. From the other Jarls - all of them! -, from the College… heck, even Tullius has sent an inquiry. Perhaps he can't wait to go on with the war. And gossip's running rampant. There's a rumour spreading that you're dead and that the dragon attacks have only ceased because Alduin is gathering his army."

"But you know I'm not dead. And… I told Danica. About Alduin."

His smile was twisted. "Yeah, we know. And I always knew that you'd slay that annoying worm and that you'd certainly not come back without the job done. But we don't gossip, and you were barely conscious when Danica asked you, and…" He was so obviously uncomfortable that it made me smile.

"They think I was delirious."

"Yes. And some people would certainly prefer a dead hero over a living legend." He busied himself with filling a goblet with cold tea and handed it to me. "Everybody saw you flying away on that strange dragon, and everybody saw him bringing you back. In his claws. But that's all they know, and of course people are curious. They want to know if Alduin is dead and how he found his end... and whom to thank. And to praise." He watched my discomfort with his intent gaze, and I pulled myself together. He was right, after all.

But for me, the fight against the Worldeater had been the end. The person that flew away on Odahviin's back had been nothing but Dovahkiin, and with Alduin gone, the Dovahkiin had fulfilled her purpose. The prophecy had taken its course, no further chapters left. After I had fed Alduin his balls, nothing was left for me to do, and what defined me had no meaning any more.

I had said farewell, I had been ready to die, and in the end I did, somewhere between that battlefield and Jorrvaskr.

That I was here now and had to give account to Kodlak, to the Jarl and to the world, it made still no sense. I hadn't planned for this eventuality, for a future where I would have to _go on_. There was no room to make any plans before, and I didn't know how to do this now, put something together from the charred remains that Alduin had left behind. All I knew was what I was _not_ any more - a warrior, the Dragonborn.

But just because I had put it behind me didn't mean that others were willing to do the same. People were curious.

Because for Kodlak and Balgruuf and everyone else it was different. Of course it was. They had lived before, they had lived through it, and now they went on living as if nothing had happened. Nothing _did_ happen. Not for them, and all that was relevant was if this life would continue the way they were used to.

They had a right to know that it would. I gave him a tentative smile. "Let him in next time. I'll speak with him."

Kodlak watched me pensively. "Qhouri... I told you what Balgruuf wants because it's your decision how to deal with this. But I want you to know that he can't force you. You have no obligations towards the Jarl... or anyone, for that matter. And I want you to know that you can rely on us. No one will make any demands of you that you're not ready to fulfil. Not under my watch, and if you never want to speak about Alduin ever again, he will, for once, not get what he wants."

I believed him, that he would put all his authority into the balance to protect my interests. I didn't believe him though that he had no interests of his own.

"But I can't hide in here forever. And... people have a right to know what happened. Don't try to tell me you're not curious."

Kodlak's hand lay on my wrist. His was frail and brittle, sharp bones and dark veins under thin, mottled skin. Mine was mutilated and crippled. The remaining three fingernails were black and would fall off on their own.

His face closed down as he lowered his gaze. Perhaps he came to the same conclusion as I. _We're both no warriors any more._

And then he rose abruptly and stood with his back to me, his forearm propped against a bookshelf. I watched him confused.

"I was scared, you know?" His voice, usually so sonorous, was restrained and weak now. "When you flew away on that dragon, I was scared like never before. And I've seen lots of scary things in my life."

Somehow I had a feeling that I shouldn't interrupt him. He turned around sharply and pointed at me. "You think I was scared for you? Wrong, Qhouri. I was scared to death for myself. For this little bit of time I still have, for everything that may or may not come afterwards. When you went to Skuldafn, this prophecy, this vague threat of doom was suddenly concrete. You were on your way to fight the Worldeater, and if you failed, my fate was sealed. And nothing else mattered." He stood straight and stiff, fingers clenched behind his back, but he looked me straight in the eyes, a gaze full of guilt and grief and anger. "And then I realised that this fear lay on your shoulders. Mine, and everyone else's, and your own. If I was so scared, looking after you from a safe distance, how must you have felt? For you, this threat of doom has always been concrete, you have faced and felt it. And for you, this life I was so afraid for always came second. All these months, and still you took step after step with this burden on your back and carried us through. All on your own. I think… then I understood why you had to put everything behind you."

He lowered his head, and it became quiet. He looked very small, our Harbinger, the man who had always given me a home to come back to when I couldn't go on. After long minutes, I stretched out my arm and touched his knee.

"You were never a burden, Kodlak. I wouldn't have made it without you." Without him. Without all of them. He had no idea how much I owed him.

He lifted his gaze to my face. His expression was very quiet. "You made a journey that no living soul should have to make, girl. But you also came back, and that's the real miracle, and the least we can do now is give you time to recover. Time that wouldn't even exist without you, and it's yours for the taking. At your terms, as much or as little as you need."

I had a lump in my throat that was more than just soreness. "I'm still pregnant," I whispered. This child wasn't shattered and charred, not like the rest of me, and it had a right to get the start it was entitled to. If nothing else, it gave me a new purpose. _He needs you now._

"Yes. Another miracle." A tentative smile lit up his face. It was gaunt under the beard, but his eyes were as alive as ever. "You have made us a gift, Qhouri. But don't forget that you've also made this gift to yourself, and... I hope for you that you'll learn to cherish it. It's more than duty, this life, and it's yours for the taking."

_Live your life, love. Make your own choices._ My head swam.

But Kodlak pushed his armchair around again so he sat beside the bed instead of facing me and took place as if the disturbance by Jarl Balgruuf had never happened and this conversation was over. But his book rested unopened in his lap, and of course it wasn't.

What did he mean, "learn to cherish it"? Of course I cherished what I had. There was no better place to heal than Jorrvaskr, and I was grateful to be here. I cherished the care, the comfort and the familiarity, and most of all did I cherish the company. To have the people around me I adored most in the world, their support and protection. I cherished that there was no duty in it.

But he couldn't protect me forever - I didn't even want him to -, and I couldn't think only of myself. I had to find a place in this world, for me and for my son, and this place wouldn't be Jorrvaskr. Not like before, not for a cripple like me.

I was certain that he knew this as good as I. But he had built me a bridge when he made clear that it was my decision how to deal with the Jarl. He would have my back, and I could nail him down on his offer and gain some precious time.

When I turned my head to him, he was alert in an instant. "Would you speak with him for me? With Balgruuf? So he can shut up the rumours that I'm _dead_?"

The obvious disgust in my expression made him smile as he turned to me. "Of course. What shall I tell him?"

I gathered my thoughts. Perhaps I should just start with the most important part.

"That I stabbed him." His eyes went wide. On second thought, that sounded _pathetic_.

"You stabbed him?"

Pathetic, yes. His expression made me grin. "Yep. It was a lucky hit. And then he was dead."

The corners of his mouth twitched. "That's all? Balgruuf will have a hard time to make a hero's tale from that. And Mikael as well."

No one needed a hero's tale, and it was something I couldn't deliver anyway.

"Why would I make Mikael's job any easier than necessary?"

"True. And he'll make up the missing pieces anyway."

"In that case... you can also tell them that I fell through a hole in Skuldafn. That Alduin was a coward and that Tsun doesn't fight fair. That the Hall of Valour is a lot like Jorrvaskr, and... that there were others who fought with me. Warriors, heroes from the Dragon Wars. There was a lot of shouting."

"And then you stabbed him."

"Yep. I mean... it took forever, and I was tired..."

He shook his head, incredulous amusement in his eyes. "Mikael will hate you."

"I think I can live with that."

"Like Jorrvaskr, you say? Good to know. I'll feel right at home then."

Now it was my turn to jerk around. "You're..."

His smile was bright. "You shouldn't bother with this, but yes. I will go there and see it for myself. I know now how to end this curse."

Of course I bothered. "You must tell me about it. Please."

"I will," he chuckled. "We're not in a hurry, Qhouri. Not you, and I'm not either. We'll get through this winter and then you'll give birth, and that's something I wouldn't miss …"

"Godsdammit, Aela!"

The door to the stairs slammed open and shut again. What was it with the noise today? Aela and Vilkas stormed into the living quarters, yelling at each other.

"A fucking trap, and you just want to ignore it?"

"I don't ignore it, Vilkas! But perhaps it was just a coincidence, and …"

"It was _no_ coincidence! Gods, they're back, we must …"

"I know, right?" They had arrived in front of Aela's door. And in front of mine. "Coincidence or not, we will deal with them. But not now. Vorstag has priority now. And Athis has to get..."

"What's going on here?" Kodlak stood in my doorway, and I could only imagine the scowl he gave them. The arguing ceased, and it was quiet for a moment.

"Nothing, Kodlak," Aela said finally, keeping her voice down. "Sorry. We didn't want to disturb you."

"You didn't," the Harbinger snapped, "but you won't storm in here like a herd of mammoths and cry doom and not explain yourself. What's the matter with Athis and Vorstag?"

I heard Vilkas' low growl. "Athis is …" He broke off abruptly as Aela interrupted him.

"Can we meet in your quarters? This can take a while," she said.

"No!" At least I was able to make myself heard, as Kodlak spun around and the other two looked over his shoulder. Anxiousness clenched my chest. "What's with Athis? And Vorstag?"

"You shouldn't bother with this, Qhouri," Aela said.

I pressed my lips into a tight line, tired of getting told that I shouldn't bother. "You won't tell me?"

"Of course. But ..." Vilkas sounded more annoyed than anything, but he looked away when I tried to catch his gaze. What was the matter with him? I knew he had avoided me over the past weeks, but what did he think how long he could keep this up? One day he'd have to tell me why, but right now this was something I really didn't want to worry about.

"Circle-meeting, now. Here." I gestured around the small room. "Find a seat. I wanna know what's going on."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What can I say? Exactly one year since the last update, and I'm still not entirely happy with this chapter. Pathetic. But Q won't release her greedy grip on me till I've seen her through to the bitter (or not so bitter) end, so let's see how it goes.  
> I'll do my very best.


	20. Reminders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A storm is gathering over Jorrvaskr.

The silence in the small room was tense and loaded as Kodlak took place in his chair. Aela and Vilkas leant against the desk, close to each other, shoulders touching, arms crossed.

They built a front against us, or they searched each other's closeness. I didn't know. But both radiated nervousness and worry.

It spread over, this worry that contained a tinge of fear, and anxiousness clenched my chest, visceral and immediate. Whatever it was that had made them yelling at each other, it was something bad. Something dangerous and menacing enough to make them lose their composure, and it spread over to me.

"What happened?" Aela's head shot up with Kodlak's question. Her gaze wandered to my face, then she shared a look with Vilkas. His hands were clenched hard into his own upper arms, but finally he gave a curt nod.

"It's two separate things. Problems," she said.

"They're not separate. And this one here is more urgent," Vilkas cut in. "Fact is ..."

"Fact is that Vorstag has disappeared," Aela snapped, "and that it's our damned duty to find him."

"He hasn't disappeared," Vilkas barked back, "how do you think they knew we'd be there? They were waiting for us!"

"I don't know, okay?" Aela faced him now, her face again contorted in anger. "Gods, you think I take this lightly? I razed them out, for Kyne's sake! But I will not make assumptions about a shield-brother ..."

"Because you're blind! Don't you see ..."

"Vilkas!" Kodlak's shout silenced them immediately. "Would someone be so kind and explain what you're talking about?"

"And what's with Athis?" I asked.

Both shared a look again, and I could see Vilkas clamp down on a remark. Aela played nervously with a quill, twirling it between her fingers while she gathered herself. "Vorstag is gone... missing. He was in the Reach, with Ria, and they separated because he wanted to meet up with his family. From there, he didn't come back. Ria searched for him, but he disappeared without a trace."

"And I ran into a trap of the Silver Hand. With Athis. He got poisoned. Badly."

"The Silver Hand? How bad? Is he okay?" My voice had a tinge of panic.

"He lives, thanks to Danica," Vilkas pressed out between gritted teeth. "But it was close. Too close. That stuff… something paralysing, but worse. Never seen anything like it. Arcadia tries to find out what it's made of. And it was the second time already."

"And now Vilkas believes that Vorstag sold us out." Aela's lips were pressed into a tight line.

Worry coiled in my stomach as I let their explanation sink in. The Silver Hand... again, and a shield-brother gone. I knew nearly nothing about Vorstag, only that he had successfully found his place among us, becoming close friends with Athis and especially with Ria. But – and I realised it with a surge of relief – it didn't matter how good I knew him and how close we were. He was a Companion, my shield-brother the same he was Aela's and Vilkas', and whatever he had been done or had happened to him, it concerned all of us equally. We were in danger. What happened to one of them happened to all of us.

I felt shame that I needed a disaster like this to remind me. And I felt like a fool that I thought I could put a distance between them and me, even if it was only in my head.

And at the same time I felt a tiny, selfish trace of relief. For once, the Companions weren't worried about me. For once, we could worry together about this danger to all of us, concrete and tangible, something we had to deal with here and now. There wasn't much I could actually do to help. But I wanted to. I wanted to help. Do something, however insignificant.

"What makes you think it was Vorstag?" Kodlak asked.

"Because it's more than a coincidence! How'd they know exactly when and where we'd show up? Someone must have told them!" Now Vilkas looked up, searching Kodlak's gaze. "It's not just that they were waiting for us. They're stronger than ever, more of them, better trained and most of all much better equipped than the rabble we were used to. We have to find out who funds them, and Aela and I are needed here now. The whelps can't deal with this on their own, Athis and I only got out because..." He shrugged.

"But we have no evidence that Vorstag is a traitor. He has enemies in Markarth, it can be just as well be that he was thrown into Cidhna Mine. Or… whatever. We must search for him. Before it's too late."

Kodlak slumped back into his seat, rubbing his palm over his face.

"And you two thought you could deal with this all on your own?"

"And who else will?" Vilkas flared up.

Aela retained her calm. "Someone has to, Kodlak, and we're the best suited. And we have to hurry. Speculating won't take us anywhere."

"Let's not be rash. What kind of problems did he have in Markarth?"

"He fell out with the Silver-Bloods when he worked for the Jarl. The family that owns Cidhna Mine."

"The family that basically owns all of Markarth," Vilkas threw in.

"Yes. It was bad enough for him to leave and come to Whiterun."

"But he has family there," I said.

"Yeah, a married sister and his parents. I knew he visited them from time to time, when we were in the area. It was never a problem. Until now."

"If the Silver-Bloods threw him into the mine, I don't see how we could get him out. That prison is tight. If he's there at all," Vilkas chimed in. His face was twisted into a scowl.

"He's a Companion, not a nameless sellsword any more. Do we have any proof that the Silver-Bloods got him?" Kodlak asked.

"No. But at the moment, it's the most plausible explanation."

"No, it's not. And anyway, it was a hazard for him to go to Markarth in the first place," Vilkas growled.

"Because you'd never do anything hazardous for your family, right?" Vilkas flinched at the Harbinger's remark, but then he gave a tight grin. It eased the tension in the room, at least a bit. "No one abducts a Companion and gets away with it. Igmund will have means to find out if Vorstag is in Cidhna, and he will if I ask him."

"If he survives that long. That hole has a reputation. And it's full with Forsworn."

"Who won't exactly like a Nord in favour with the Jarl." Kodlak nodded gravely. "Anyway, this will be faster than you trying to break in there. And you should try to get in contact with his family."

"Ria did that already. His sister knows nothing, and he never arrived at his parents' house."

"Okay. When will you leave?"

Aela hesitated for a moment, her eyes flitting to Vilkas again. They both started to speak at the same time. "At once," she said, "already got my …"

"You can't. Not now."

"I have to, Vilkas! You wanna let him rot?" The quill broke in halves, and for a moment, she looked confused at the fragments before she let them drop onto the table.

"And who will take care of the Hand?" He shoved himself off the desk and paced through the room. "We have to do something. We're deadlocked as long as we don't know who their contact is, and one day we'll have them on our doorstep."

"Dramatic, much?" But there was no heat in Aela's remark.

"Perhaps, but just one more reason to find Vorstag as soon as possible," Kodlak said. "And you're both right. As long as we don't know if and how Vorstag and the Hand are connected, we're grasping at straws. But it's not either or. How long has he been missing?"

"Eight... perhaps nine days. We don't know exactly."

"Which means he can't know about jobs that came in since then."

Vilkas bit his lip in thought, then he nodded. "And if we take on one of those and the Hand is there, we know that it's not Vorstag."

"Yes. The whelps can do that if they know what to expect. Qhouri will brief them. In the meantime, one of you goes to Markarth, speaks with the Jarl and searches for clues. And both of you should have a look at the Hands' hideouts, those that Aela destroyed. See if they moved back in. Perhaps find out where their funds come from." He poked his index in Aela's direction. "Don't get reckless for now, okay? We'll work on this together."

Her face crunched up in frustration, but she nodded. "I'll take Njada. She's the suited for that kind of job." Her gaze flitted to me. We all knew that under these circumstances I'd be an even better match for her. I avoided her eyes.

"Vilkas should go to Markarth, though," I said. He gave me a questioning look, and Aela looked as if she wanted to object. "You'll be alone if Ria and Torvar do the baiting job, but you can go to Skyhaven. It'll be safer than Markarth, and Delphine can be your backup."

For a moment he relaxed, the nervous tension leaving his shoulders. "That's... actually a good idea."

"Give them my greetings." I wanted to say something else. To be careful, to come back safe, that they'd find something, that everything would be fine. He didn't give me opportunity, just nodded curtly and followed Aela into her room.

They left together a few minutes later, but lingered for a moment outside of my door. Her hands rested on his hips as he pulled her into a tight hug. Their whisper was too quiet for me to understand, but I had the feeling that I was intruding on something.

* * *

"It's too quiet, isn't it?"

My gaze jerked up from where my eyes were glued to a single line in my book. Listening to Athis' laboured breathing, I hadn't turned the page for ages. Yes, it was too quiet.

His eyes were small with sleepiness and clouded with pain, but he showed me a small, relaxed smile. He should have slept for longer, but at least it seemed that I didn't wake him.

"How are you?"

"Better." He propped himself on an elbow, the other hand pressed to his side where the bandage that covered the festering dagger wound was soaked with pus. "Help me?"

He never hesitated to ask. He never tried to do something that was beyond his strength. I knew how much I had hated to be dependent on someone else for the easiest, most personal tasks, the humiliation and helplessness. Now Athis was in that situation, and he let me help him as if it was no big deal. I loved him for it.

The day Athis was brought home from the temple, I had left my room for the first time on my own two feet. I was drenched in sweat and shivering from the fire that flared beneath my scars, but I made it to the dorm. I had just wanted to see him, convince myself that he was if not well then at least alive and healing. But Danica had thrown a tantrum when she caught me, and in the end it had been Athis who declared that  _if we're both wrecked we can just as well be wrecked together_ and asked Olfina to push two beds together.

I wouldn't be of much help to him, and he slept most of the time anyway, but at least I could keep watch over him. He was worse off than me, the poison that had hit him of a kind neither the priests nor Arcadia had ever seen and all their antidotes useless. Danica could only treat the symptoms, waiting that it worked its way out of his system. But his wounds were infected and refusing to heal, and the effect of the paralysis that by a hair's breadth had stopped his heart still lingered in his blood, making every movement clumsy and sluggish.

I had to have an eye on him. I had to see how he recovered, that he recovered. It was the only thing I could do after everyone else was gone, searching for clues about the Silver Hand and fighting for our safety.

"The others will be back soon." I helped him to lean against the headboard and handed him a drink of water, my hands lingering near the goblet. Sometimes, he didn't have enough feeling in his fingers to hold it on his own. "They'll find something."

He took a careful sip. "And then we'll get them. Bastards." He had a teasing lilt to his voice.

"Of course you will."  _You_ will.  _They_ will. Not  _we will._

"Does it bother you?"

"What?"

"The silence. It does bother me, you know?"

He never failed to surprise me. "Why?"

"I asked first." Now the tease was in his smirk. I turned my head away.

"I'm used to it."

"True." As if he understood. Perhaps he did. I felt his gaze on me, probing past the borders of scars and memories. He would not breach them. No one did.

The silence beneath the waves, when the rhythm of breath and pulse had ceased. The silence of Alduin's mist, swallowing the screams of the damned. The wordless silence of the beast, filled only with blood and anger. The silence of the Falkreath woods, where every wish, every dream had to yield to the demands of survival.

The silence of death after the crack of jaws snapping shut and bones breaking.

I was used to it, but to listen to his breath was still better. "I just hate the waiting."

I laid my palm on his forehead. At least his fever had gone down, but there was a fine sheen of sweat on his skin. The air in the room was too hot, stale and reeking sour. Suppressing a groan, I fought myself out of the bed to open the door to the corridor and the tiny ventilation slot beneath the ceiling. The fresh air made it easier to breathe, but it did nothing for the pain every movement still caused, the heat beneath my skin, the aches in my muscles. Especially those in my lower back, straining under the weight of my belly. Weeks of bedrest had left me frighteningly weak.

"Damn."

I jerked around. Athis had lost the grip on the goblet when he tried to pull the blanket up to his chin. His fingers were clenched into the drenched fabric.

"Shit. Sorry, Athis." I rushed over to him, then turned around again and slammed the window shut. He was freezing, goosebumps on his forearms and grinding teeth revealing how he fought against the bout of weakness. "Sorry. Gods." He slumped back when I wrapped him into a dry blanket, careful not to touch his injured side. But when I hurried to refill his goblet, a careless motion shoved the lamp from the nightstand.

For a moment I stood still and stared at the shards and the oil dripping to the floor, the tips of my fingers pressing to the hard leather edges of the eyepatch until it hurt. I hadn't seen the damned thing, but I should have known where it stood. There was a wheeze in my breath that was impossible to calm down. "Godsdammit."

"Qhouri."

I bent over and grabbed another blanket from a free bed. "Take this."

He shook his head, the glint back in his eyes. "It's fine. Stop fussing, please."

"But you need..." I took a discarded shirt and tried to mop up the oil. I only smeared it over the floor, making the stone slippery.

"Qhouri." Clear exasperation was in his voice as he grabbed my wrist. "I'm fine. The others will be here in a minute, and Olfina will take care of this." His chin jutted towards the puddle.

"You're not fine!"

"Only because you're driving me nuts." He moved to sit up again, crunching his face with the effort.

For a moment I stood like frozen, heat rushing to my face, then I lowered my head. Athis was the most undemanding patient ever, never impatient, always more concerned about me than about himself. But Danica had forbidden him to move more than absolutely necessary. He needed to stay warm. He needed to drink. He needed to sleep. All things I should have been easily able to take care of, but instead I only made everything worse. "Okay." I hated how I had to support myself, grabbing bedposts and armour stands as I went to the door. I was so godsdamned useless that I wasn't even able to keep him halfway comfortable.

"What are you doing?"

"Not driving you nuts any more."

He sighed behind me. "Okay. Let's try this again. Could you stop driving us both nuts and calm down?"

When I turned, he patted the mattress beside him, still this maddening teasing grin on his face.

"But you need rest. Danica said..."

"Danica said I'm healing and need to take it easy. And so do you. Don't throw a tantrum just because your hand-eye-coordination is still lousy."

Over the last days, I had heard him curse and shout in pain and whimper in his sleep when his injuries took their toll. But never, not once, had I seen him lose his confidence that it would get better, the same as it had been when he nearly died at Azura's shrine. He didn't take it seriously, the severity of his wounds, knowing that he'd be okay, even if it took a bit longer than he liked. He didn't take me seriously either when I started to fuss over him, even if he humoured me.

Usually, I admired him for it. Sometimes I wished I were like him. Right now, it drove me insane.

I clamped down on the urge to snap at him and slumped down on the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry." I didn't want to be such a nervous mess.

"And stop being sorry, for Azura's sake." He grabbed a pillow and straightened it against the headboard, giving me an inviting nod. "Relax."

It became quiet as he laid back and his breathing eased. But when I reached for the discarded book, he was faster than me, took it and put it out of my reach.

"Give me your hand." The no-nonsense tone again, the one that made it pointless to argue. There was nothing to argue about anyway. Tension in my shoulders uncoiled as I stretched out my arm and he slathered his fingers with the viscous lotion from a jar on his nightstand.

Despite Danica's and my own efforts, thick layers of scars still nearly immobilised my left hand. The remaining fingers were stiff and unable to stretch completely, every flexing felt as if the skin split apart, and the palm was far too sensitive to grasp or hold something securely. And beneath that mess of burns, the muscles of hand and forearm were stuck in a permanent cramp, to a degree that I had resumed to keep it in a sling just to get a bit of respite.

But I didn't give up. It was frustrating, but I made my exercises with stubborn tenacity although Danica always pressed her lips into a tight line when she came for an examination.

At first, after I had lodged in with Athis, he had just watched my efforts to stretch and bend the fingers and to rub in the healing salve with clumsy motions, trying not to disturb the scars too much while simultaneously trying to loosen the muscles. Until one day he had dipped his index into the jar and took my wrist in a gentle grip.

When I treated myself, I knew what to expect, what and where it would hurt most, and could brace myself. But even the healer with her careful touches sometimes made me cry out in pain when a patch of skin decided to react as if she hit me with a burning iron.

Apart from that, it looked like a claw. I didn't want him to touch it and tried to jerk the limb out of his grip.

He gave me that look that was half annoyance and half an amused  _Don't be stupid_ . "Let me try, Qhouri," he had said. "If it's done correctly, it works like a foot rub."

Of course he was right. His fingers, slick with salve, were cool as he pressed both thumbs into my palm. Instead to rub he just applied none too gentle pressure, and although it hurt, it hurt in a different way than everything I was used to. I had learned to distinguish a lot of different kinds of pain over the last weeks, and this one... it was good, at least in comparison, like the aches of knotted muscles that flare up in a hot bath before they fade away.

The handrub became a daily ritual between us. It was only a small thing, it actually helped, but it did more than that. He accepted this part of me in all its ugliness and dysfunctionality, and I learned to let him take over. When his fingers worked their magic, I stopped to wait for the next flare of agony, and I stopped to be aware of all the pains and disabilities, of all the insecurities and things I wasn't able to do any more. When I once slept off under his treatment with my head on his shoulder, he woke me with a gentle swat of my nose. "My arm's falling as dead as yours," he said, shoving me off into my own pile of pillows. His indignant expression made me laugh.

As his fingers worked their magic now, the mess of nerves and anxiety in my head calmed down nearly instantly. It became quiet while he stretched my fingers with gentle pressure and folded them back into a loose fist. It felt good just to let him.

"Qhouri?"

I had my eyes closed. "Hmm?"

"You remember when we were in Forelhost?"

I turned my head to him, brows furrowing. "Of course. The mad Thalmor. You getting roasted."

"I didn't get roasted." He worked his fingertips into the muscles of my forearm, right between elbow and spoke bone. "We planned a party back then."

Now I twitched, but his grip was unrelenting. "That's still more than a year." His 300th and my 30th birthday. It had been a nice idea, back then. It was still a nice idea. But the tension was back, and a touch of anger coiled in my stomach that he brought this up right now.

"I know," he said calmly. He let go of my wrist, laid my hand onto his thigh and covered it with his own. "But I insist on that party to happen. Just saying."

"Do you now."

"Aye." He gave me a grin that wasn't quite as carefree as I was used from him. "I've no idea what's going on in your head, you know? But I insist. You better be here."

It didn't sound like an idea or a suggestion, rather like an appointment. A lot could go wrong in one year, we both knew that. It was not a road I should let my mind take.

"I'd like that," I said lowly. The big BUT stood in flaming letters between us. I withdrew my hand from his hold and lowered my gaze. "There's nothing going on. In my head. I just don't know if..."

"You don't have to," he interrupted me. "You don't have to know. You don't have to plan. You know what I think?"

I gave him a questioning look and shrugged.

"Yes, a year is a long time. And you will use this time - month to month and day to day. Minute to minute, if necessary." He tipped at my temple. "I don't believe there's nothing going on. I think that a lot of Qhouri is hidden in there that no one has discovered yet. Not even you."

Nothing was hidden in my head, only some stuff stashed away that I didn't need any more, and I really didn't need him to stir up the dust.

I shook my head. "Please, Athis... I don't need a pep-talk."

His gaze was piercing and gentle at the same time. "And how about a reminder?"

_We won't leave you alone. We're gonna remind you where you belong until you come back to us._

I knew that. Even back then I had believed him.

And now, as he was holding his promise every day and every hour, I didn't have to tell him that hoping for something to happen wasn't the same as believing that something would happen. That I wasn't used to make plans that extended beyond the next day and that Jorrvaskr was the only home I had ever known, that I felt I belonged here but didn't know how.

"It's not that I could just leave," I said.

"That's true." He rubbed his fingertips together, still shining with lotion. "Do you hate it?"

"What?"

"That you can't. That you ..." He gestured towards me, a movement as strained as his smile. "That ... everything's different."

"That I'm a cripple? Dependent on you?" He shrugged, helpless. At least he didn't deny it. "Better you than anyone else." When he opened his mouth for a reply, I lifted a hand to stop him. "No. I mean it. I'm glad to be here, and I won't go anywhere anytime soon. Okay?"

"You don't hate it because it would make no difference if you did."

"Well, it wouldn't." I gave him a smile. "I don't wanna wallow. Stop pestering me, okay?"

He lowered his head for a moment, but then he showed me a small grin and tugged at my sleeve. "Gimme. I wasn't finished."

I leant lightly against his good side as he resumed the treatment of my scars, my head tilted back against the wall. It was easy to relax like this. All his attention was now directed towards what he was doing, and I hoped he'd stop worrying about the rest of me.

"But I'm awesome at pep-talking," he mumbled.

I snorted. "It's scary."

"Qhouri?"

"Hm?"

"If I told you that we'll be fine, does that count as wallowing?"

I chuckled. "You can't help it, can you?"

There was no amusement in his voice. "Would you believe me?" His fingertip squeezed a little too hard, and he held the pressure, sending a jolt through my arm. I forced myself not to flinch.

We  _were_ fine. Not perfect, but fine. But if Athis said it, I would believe him.

I nudged my elbow into his side, careful not to make him jerk. "Yes, I would. Stop pestering me."

"Okay." A muscle in my arm gave way to relaxation, and the pressure released.

"Qhouri?" I felt an amused huff on top of my head.

"Yes?"

"You know what I want from you for my birthday?" He was a precious, annoying, teasing bastard.

"I'm sure you'll tell me in time."

He suppressed a snicker. "I want you to sing me something."

A bastard. I'd always known it. "A horker bull in heat would sound better than I."

"I'd rather have a horker than Mikael."

"You're an ass."

"And you love it."

I lifted my head to look at his face. "I do."

"Good to know." His grin was brilliant. "You better be here. Just saying. Both you and ..." He reached over and patted my belly.

A jolt went through my abdomen. Not painful, just a sudden, forceful pressure from the inside that made me hiccup and freeze with shock.

And so did Athis. For a second, he didn't move and just stared at his hand, jaw slack. And then he pushed the blanket down into my lap and laid his palm flat on my belly. His face flashed in a broad, incredulous grin.

"You aren't just hungry, are you?"

I shook my head, words stuck in my throat.

"Was that the first time?"

I nodded. I thought I had felt him before... little flutterings, like bursting bubbles. But I had never been sure. It had never been so  _purposeful_ .

"Wow." Athis was all focus now, bent over as far as his injury allowed and spread his fingers on the thin shirt I was wearing. I looked down on his hand on my belly, holding my breath. It was the wrong hand - too dark, too small, too bony, too cool. But it was a good hand, it was the only one that was here, and some things were better left unthought. It was Athis' hand, and for that it was the right one.

"Listen, young man," he said sternly, "I've had an eye on your mother for a long time now, and of course I'll also have an eye on you. So you better be here."

There was another kick, and Athis looked very proud of himself. A tear spilled over as I broke into giggles and hid my face in his shoulder. It felt bony and fragile, but it also felt like a wall.

"Aw!" Amusement rang in Olfina's voice as she stood in the doorway, carrying a huge tray with dishes, sliced bread, roast, cheese and a bowl with the hearty broth Athis was still restricted to. The door to the stairs stood open, and I heard Eorlund shout a greeting at Tilma, Vignar call out for Brill and Kodlak's scuffling steps from the other end of the corridor.

Athis snickered and patted my shoulder, waving at her with the other hand. "Shush. We're having a moment here."

"Wouldn't have guessed." She suppressed a laughter as she placed the tray down. Since it were only so few of us remaining in Jorrvaskr and Athis and I were confined to the dorm, everyone else had made it a habit to take their meals down here with us. Eorlund had unceremoniously pushed a few of the free beds to the wall and hurled a large table into the room, and now we gathered at least once a day. It was something I was looking forward to, but now I blushed under her curious look. Behind her, people were crowding into the room.

Athis tilted his head and searched my face as I straightened myself, a question in his eyes. When I nodded, the proud grin returned to his face. "I just got kicked," he declared.

" _And_ he liked it." That got me a goodnatured, but weak kick to the shin.

"He just got ...?" Slow understanding bloomed on Olfina's face as she placed the broth on Athis' nightstand. He regarded it with obvious disgust. "Don't tell Ma, or you'll never hear the end of it."

"What is she not to tell Ma?" her father boomed as he entered the room, his arm slung around the shoulders of his wife. Fralia let out a laughter.

"That her son has started kicking." Olfina gave her mother a grin. "Please don't tell her how horrible I was and that you didn't sleep for months and that the boys were much easier." She offered me a hand to help me up. Athis wasn't allowed to leave the bed, but I took my place between her and Kodlak.

"But it's true," Eorlund said. "I was a wreck by the end of it."

Fralia patted his hand. "Of course. You suffered horribly when I was pregnant." He had the decency to blush slightly and answer the laughter around the table with a sheepish grin. "That's great, Qhouri. He'll be a strong boy."

The Grey-Manes had aligned themselves even closer with Jorrvaskr over the last weeks than before, and not only because Eorlund and Olfina were the only ones left who were able to do any heavy lifting. The smith was practically a part of the Companions, and there was no secret that he didn't share. The same was true for Olfina, especially since she had permanently moved in. But Fralia always seemed to be a bit uncomfortable with us - she was friendly and helpful, but she had her own business, and I had the feeling that she liked us best from a little distance. Rarely was she seen inside of Jorrvaskr, even with all the hours Eorlund spent with us.

We had all been surprised when she started to join Eorlund for our dinner. And I was even more surprised when she took me to the side one day and asked for a word. "I don't want to impose, Qhouri," she said. "I just wanted to tell you... if you ever have questions about your... " She gestured towards my belly. "It's scary. And confusing. At least it was for me, when I was expecting Olfina." She shook her head with a small, self-deprecating smile and straightened herself, hands clasped behind her back. "It's been some time, I know. But if you ever want to talk to someone who knows how it is... my house is always open for you."

She was sweet, but I didn't take her up on her offer. Danica had told me what to expect and how to behave myself. She also told me that we wouldn't know if the boy was healthy until he was born. I didn't need any more advice or consolation, and there was no reason to be confused. Or scared.

"By the way, Aela has sent a note," Olfina said.

"Aye," Kodlak nodded, "but only to let us know that they've found nothing so far. All the old hideouts are still deserted."

"Any word from Vilkas? About Vorstag?" Athis asked.

Kodlak shook his head, a shadow flying over his face, and for a moment the conversation stalled. Nothing else was to be expected, those of us out there were searching for a needle in a haystack, after all, with no real clues and leads. No word from Vilkas meant at least that Vorstag probably wasn't kept in Cidhna Mine, because that was what he wanted to check first. What we didn't know was if in this case, no news were good or bad.

We could just wait, and I let the noise wash over me, listening only with half an ear as the discussion meandered from necessary repairs of the roof to the soltice festival and finally to the burning question if Honningbrew mead was better in winter or in summer. Athis dozed off in the middle of that argument.

It was nice, this gathering, the easy familiarity, the banter, the way we had no secrets from each other. Not as loud as when we met around the fire upstairs, with less bravado, less levity, much less alcohol. But it was good to come together, and when Kodlak reached over and cut the roast on my plate into small chunks when he saw me struggling with the knife, I just gave him a grateful smile.

"Found something yet?" I asked lowly.

He nodded and shoved the plate back in front of me. "Falkreath," he said equally quiet. "I'll show you later, okay?"

We had no secrets from the Grey-Manes, but this was something Kodlak didn't like to discuss in front of everyone - the progress in his search for the redemption of Hircine's magic. It had been an obscure tale from Solstheim about a cult of witches presumably able to cure lycanthropy that finally got him on the right track.

He had tracked this cult through times and countries and found out that they were not only spread over all of Tamriel, but that they also had a coven in Skyrim. At least they had when his unlucky predecessor forged the fateful pact, and he felt safe to assume that it was exactly this cult of Hircine who had granted the Companions their power.

And now he searched for their current whereabouts to ask them to reverse the curse.

Of course it wouldn't be so easy - a soul for a soul was the principle - but for the moment, Kodlak didn't bother. "They got enough of souls from us," he declared, "we did our part. And if needed, they will listen to force." His smile had been grim, and although we both knew that it was Vilkas who would deliver this message if necessary, it was good to see how this final success revived his spirits.

He had bad days, of course, days on which he wasn't able to leave his bed, we heard nothing but his ragged coughing and Danica came over every few hours to treat him. He always looked ashen and fragile after these episodes, but he never let his weakness show when he joined us again. Ultimately the good days, when he made plans for the next year and indicated that he was looking forward to spoil my son rotten and Danica left with a smile, those days still exceeded the bad ones.

Today was such a day, and I couldn't even imagine to not have him here, in our midst.

I only perked up again when the front door upstairs opened and shut again with a bang. Eorlund took the axe he had left leaning against the wall and stepped out into the corridor, but he put it away immediately when a bright voice came down the stairs.

"Where is everybody?" Twofold heavy steps, and then Ria and Torvar turned around the corner, nearly running and out of breath. Her face lit up when she saw us all, though, and for a moment she just stood there in the open door, snow in her hair and melting into a puddle where clumps of it fell off her boots, exhaustion and relief showing in her face.

Torvar only shook off his gauntlets, pulled up a chair and started immediately to stuff a few slices of bread with meat and mustard. When he stole a cucumber from my plate, I gave him an incredulous look. They weren't even supposed to be back yet, the destination of their job lay up in the northern mountains, literally in the middle of nowhere.

He gave me a look with no remorse and a lot of tiredness. "What?" he said, chewing. "Haven't eaten all day."

"Are you okay?" I asked. "What happened?"

Ria shook herself out of her thoughts, gave me a brittle smile and entered the room properly. "We found them," she said. "In Driftshade. Their headquarter."

"You found who?" Kodlak raised his voice.

Her hands went to the buckles of her pauldrons, fumbling, uncertain. "The Silver Hand. An army of them."

For a moment, the room was eerily silent before everyone started to talk at once. Kodlak lifted himself half out of his seat to ask for silence. "There was another trap?"

Ria and Torvar exchanged a gaze. "No," she said, "at least we don't think so."

Olfina pulled a chair between us. "Come here. Eat something. You look horrible." Ria gave her a grateful smile and slumped down on the seat.

"That den was crawling with them," Torvar explained. "At least a dozen guards, and buckloads of people coming and going. Far too many for a simple trap. And too organised. They're living there."

Kodlak slumped back into his chair and ran his fingers through his hair. "No way that's a coincidence."

I had chosen that job for them. I thought it was safe - relatively, of course. Far off the beaten tracks and therefore perfect to set up a trap if someone sought an opportunity. But all by itself, not particularly dangerous. "It came from Jarl Korir. About a helmet of his that got stolen. His guards tracked the thieves to Driftshade, but didn't dare to go in themselves. It looked pretty ordinary."

Kodlak shook his head. "Most certainly no coincidence. Korir would sell his wife for some extra funds, and he doesn't care where they come from."

"You're talking about a Jarl here, Kodlak. That's some serious accusations," Vignar threw in.

"And a Stormcloak Jarl at that, I know." Kodlak showed him a grim smile. "I'm not accusing him of anything, not without proof. But you have to admit that he isn't the brightest candle in the lot. Perhaps he was deceived as well."

Vignar looked doubting, but he refrained from a further remark. Kodlak turned to Ria who had taken place between Olfina and me. "Have they seen you?"

"No." The way Torvar ducked his head and Ria blushed, there was more to it. "But they would have if we hadn't killed two of their guards," he said.

"We had to get a closer look. At first, we weren't certain they were Silver Hands at all."

"So you left corpses behind," I said. Ria nodded.

"And if they were expecting us, they know now that you were there. That we found them." Kodlak's remark silenced all talk. Anxiety crawled up my spine. Something in this made no sense.

Eorlund was the one who finally asked. "Why would they do that? Even if that job was a foul lead... why would they lure us to their hideout?"

"Because they know how we work," Kodlak said. "Skjor was alone. Aela was alone. There's rarely more than two of us." He looked into the round, his gaze heavy. All of us were in this together, no matter if we were Companions or not. "They also know that we never back away from a fight. I guess they expected you to charge in and become easy prey. And when you wouldn't have come back, more of us would have paid them a visit. A visit they were just waiting for."

"We're not that stupid!" Righteous indignation stood in Ria's face.

"But you wanted to," Torvar muttered.

A light smile lit up Kodlak's face. "No, you're not, fortunately. And Qhouri has briefed you well, it seems. But now they know that we know."

"Perhaps we should just indulge their wishes." Athis was wide awake now and had fought himself into a sitting position, the haggard lines of his face twisted into a grin that had something decidedly evil. And eager. "Take the fight to them, like they expect us to. End them once and for all."

This was so typical. " _You_ won't take anything anywhere," I said, looking through the room. For an ancient order of famous warriors, we were a pathetic lot. Besides Ria and Torvar, Eorlund was the only one who'd be able to take up a fight in this moment. "And dozens of them? In their headquarter, well trained and well equipped? They'd butcher you." It was a truth we would have to face.

"Each of us is worth a dozen of them!" Torvar said.

Kodlak's lips quirked up. "Sometimes, yes. When we're exceptionally good and they're exceptionally careless. Nothing I would rely on right now."

"Anyway, first we need the others," I said. "We'll have to decide together. And no one knows them better than Aela." I searched Ria's eyes. "If Vilkas hasn't found anything yet, I'm afraid Vorstag will have to wait."

She pinched her lips into a tight line. "I know. This here... this is huge. What we've seen there..." She leant against Olfina who slung an arm around her shoulder, her eyes huge. As if she only now realised how far in over their head they had been, and full of relief that someone else would take over.

I could just hope that this didn't go far over all our heads.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If horkers sound anything like walruses, Q is doing them serious injustice here. Because they make the most adorable sounds.  
> https://youtu.be/CohJksnlT1g


End file.
